Sunset in LA

It was totally unexpected and I was completely caught off the guard when a sudden assignment to LA threw me into a frenzy post birthday week of packing and last minute prep. I consider it a good fortune ofcourse! Last minute flight booking landed me at LAX  airport in LA from whence I reached the hotel at Woodland Hills. My office is located in one of the many buildings in Warner Center and a walk on sunday is all it took to discover the neighborhood.

Glimpse of Warner Center against the cloudy backdrop

Woodland Hills is part of the San Fernando Valley and is one of the primary business hubs in LA or that is what I was told atleast.

The Warner Center is made up of blocks of building that span almost the whole area that you can in the picture here.

While LA is not exactly tropical as India, it does project a similar weather with the sun shining bright in your eyes The only disappointing factor here is it gets dark bang by 4.45PM and you are left in a lurch if you don’t have a vehicle.

A Voltswagen showroom

LA is a hot spot for fast cars, Porsches, shopping and partying. If you aren’t into any of these then forget it! I must’ve stepped in when the weather was transitioning to winter because my first glimpse was beautiful hedgerows of some berries, roses which never seem to fade and lush maple trees.

One of the many beautiful christmas trees

So far I’ve been to Santa Monica on a brief trip and well checked out Woodland Hills thoroughly for sure. Restaurants to visit here are Little Orchids (they serve amazing Thai food and its a good deal), Zen Buffet (for people who luuve Japanese cuisine – you can try fish eggs, octopus and well clams if you are looking for something exotic). The steamed buns and sesame balls are really good though. Then there is the Whole Food Market for the calorie conscious folks and Daphne’s Greek Cafe which serves very good Greek cuisine.

Now food apart, its christmas time and so you’d get that fresh scent of pine everywhere. Trees are so beautifully adorned and lit up that its a sight to see for sure. LA sure makes up for not having that perfect white christmas!

Raoul Walsh’s 1915 film Regeneration is often acclaimed as one of the first gangster films, but these aren’t really gangsters modern audiences would be familiar with. The gang Owen (John McCann) leads are more of a mob of Lower East Side plug uglies than true sports. They wear floppy caps and the working clothes of the docks and congregate in a basement called the Chicory Hall, where the thugs are as likely to be found sleeping on the bare dirt floor as playing cards.

In films like The Roaring Twenties (1939), Walsh would deal in a more glamorous look at the criminal sort. But in Regeneration the emphasis is squarely on squalor. Orphaned at a young age, Owen is raised by abusive foster parents and eventually takes to the streets. As a teenager, he proves to be tasty with his fists. Soon he’s running with a crowd of petty crooks engaged in minor shakedowns and pickpocketing.

His life is changed when he meets Marie (Anna Q. Nilsson), a society dame who takes to social work at a neighborhood “settlement” after Owen saves her slumming pals from some working class rowdies. The hoodlum comes good, first when he saves a group of children from a burning steamboat—a direct reference to the PS General Slocum disaster of 1891. (The film is based on a memoir by Owen Frawley Kildare that later became a stage play.) Then Owen rescues a baby from its warring parents.

Walsh presents alcoholism, homelessness, wife-beating and drunken rages with a dispassionate eye, even while tweaking his audience’s voyeuristic desire to get a peek at the wild side with a one-eyed villain and criminals appearing at peepholes. He saves his moralizing for a moment when Marie literally calls up a vision of Hebraic script to warn Owen against pulverizing a rival. The location filming is populated with a rich gang of grotesques that include a hunchbacked dwarf, a man with a cauliflowered nose, a one-armed doorman, obese freaks and surreal imagery like goldfish swimming in one man’s glass of beer.

Walsh’s narrative control and flair for action is also evident even in this early film, his second according to Thomson’s Biographical Dictionary of Film. He uses the parallel editing of his mentor D.W. Griffith to compare the moneyed soirees of Marie’s family with the populist entertainers at a downtown theatre, and the film concludes with a daring escape from the by way of a washing line stretched between tenements. Although film noir wouldn’t arrive for a few decades, Walsh associates shadows with the underworld. There’s a thrilling moment when the silhouette of a gallows appears on a wall behind a gang leader. Walsh also uses fades to contrast the young Owen eating an ice cream with the older Owen drinking from a bucket of beer.

Walsh began as he meant to go on, fast and furious. As the elder Owen, McCann has some of the depraved sensuality of a young Marlon Brando, although he convincingly comes around for the finale demanded by the title. The Swedish-born model Nilsson—at one point dubbed “The Most Beautiful Woman in America”—would later turn up as one of Gloria Swanson’s “waxworks” in Sunset Boulevard (1950). Walsh adapted Regeneration with Carl Harbaugh, whose name would later appear on the credits for Steamboat Bill Jr. (1928), whose star Buster Keaton was himself destined for a place at Swanson’s bridge table.

I was resting, lying in a vacant lot on Sunset Boulevard overlooking the city. I stashed a small case (containing a hair dryer, toothbrush etc.) behind some bushes. Under the circumstances, I found this place to be a haven, of sorts, for escaping the frenzy of Los Angeles, at least for a few hours.

A slight breeze was blowing, causing a grouping of leaves to cast an animated shadow on the wall of a building. The moving leaves looked like a movie playing on the wall.

The song lyric “The Answer My Friend Is Blowing In The Wind” was playing in my mind. In the very vulnerable state I was in, I was desperately desperate to find a way out. I was looking for a message from the movie playing on the wall. In my twisted mind I was sure that “the Powers that be” were sending me a message. I laid back and watched in riveted fascination.

The alliteration, Desperately Desperate Desperado has to fit in here somewhere.

c. 2009 William Carbone
All rights reserved.

I was dead tired on my feet. I had been walking the sidewalks of West LA for days and needed to lay down and sleep. Every bone in my body was tired, my mind was drifting, yet I still had a sense of humor.

In the mid 70s there was a store on Larrabee Street called Lost On Larrabee. I thought that it might be interesting to “loose” my shoes there so that some day in the future I could say that I lost my shoes at the Lost On Larrabee store on Larrabee Street. Yea, I know…This is the future.

I removed the shoes, placed them on a window-sill and walked on down the street.

I think it may have been less then a good idea since two weeks later my feet were bleeding into the water running in the gutters of the Sunset Strip.
c.2009 William Carbone

Actually, a lot. Writers are often told to write that page turning opening scene to hook the reader, because that is the first thing they read in your script. Prior to reading the ubiquitous “fade in”, the title is actually the first thing a reader sets their eyes on. How does it make them feel? Do they want to read past the title page? What does it say about the content of your film? Consider your movie poster. Your potential audience will see a title combined with an image to help them decide if they will watch it or not. Given that a title is an integral part of the marketing, make sure it sands out.

Marketing departments spend a handsome budget devising titles to evoke a particular mood in target audiences. Never submit a script titled “Untitled Project” or “Working Title” even if you’re really established. It’s lazy and unpolished. A bad title at least shows you’ve made an effort. You spend considerable time to name your baby, so why not your script? How would your child be perceived if he was called Thaddeus? John? Dayton? Same kid, very different perceptions.

There are a number of approaches you can use to find the right title for your script. Above all, make it memorable and neatly compliment your story.

MAIN CHARACTER: This is probably the easiest. “Jerry Maguire”, “Milk”, “E.T.”, “Spiderman”,  “Shrek” and “Amelie” are common examples. You can even add a twist to further bait the audience. Examples include “Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?” or “Malcolm X”.

MAIN CHARACTER’S ROLE: An alternative to using the main character’s name, is their occupation. An example of this is “The Machinist” rather than the Trevor Reznik story. “The Queen” can be arguably more powerful than “Elizabeth Windsor”. “The Wrestler” says something more about the film than “Ram”.

PLOT/ THEME: A good title should give the audience and indication of the plot or themes covered “A Few Good Men” and “Atonement” give a  hint of the theme, although we’re not clear it’s about the military or Victorian England, respectively. “Escape From New York”, ‘Kill Bill”, “Dead Poets’ Society”  or “Toy Story” encapsulate the plot in the title.

MAJOR EVENT: This relates to the plot, but a major event can also act as a powerful title. Examples include “Independence Day” and “World Trade Center” (place and event).

PLACE: Peter Weir’s “Picnic At Hanging Rock”, “Australia”, “Sunset Boulevard”, ‘District 9″, “Fargo” and “Pearl Harbor” are examples. The first example depicts a plot and place, while “District 9″ is more elusive.

SIGNIFICANT DIALOGUE: A seemingly innocuous piece of dialogue that makes sense once the movie has been seen. An example includes “First Blood”.

GENRE: A title should also relate to a film’s genre. Consider “Jaws”. It wasn’t called “The Shark” because “Jaws” was more immediate and better conveyed the action genre. A comedy should have a funny title such as “40 Year Old Virgin” or “Knocked Up”. In these cases the entire plot is also conveyed. “I, Robot” suggests a science fiction movie, while “Paranormal Activity” indicates a supernatural thriller.

A PLAY ON WORDS: The only examples I can think of are “Preaching To The Perverted”, “Shaun Of The Dead” and “Legally Blonde”. Catchy and all help sell the films. They may indicate a parody to the original.

SOURCE MATERIAL: Often the film adaptation carries the same name as it’s source for continuity. It’s a powerful tool of the branding process to create familiarity, awareness and mental relationships. “Harry Potter” is a prime example as is “Closer” which originated as a stage play of the same name by Patrick Marber. A notable deviation is “There Will Be Blood”. This title is more obscure than the bolder title of Upton Sinclair’s novel “Oil”. The film title adds an element of mystery, death and saga, whereas “Oil” could be a story about acne.

OBSCURE TITLES: These are generally reserved for non-studio films to create an air of exclusivity to perhaps more high brow audiences who love to be challenged by what a film’s title actually meets. Consider the recently released film “Invictus” about Nelson Mandela’s shepherding of the Springboks to World Cup Rugby victory. Invictus is a Latin word meaning “unconquered”. Imagine if it was simply called “Mandela” or “Springboks Rule”? The Latin title adds prestige and so much depth to the film because South Africa winning the World Cup in 1995 was meant to unify South Africa. In 1995, rugby was more than a game. It was meant to conquer the evil ghosts of apartheid.

PARADOXICAL TITLES: Consider this year’s multi Academy award winning film “Slumdog Millionaire”. It’s diametrically opposed imagery causes instant intrigue.

NONSENSICAL TITLES: Examples include “Like Water For Chocolate” which doesn’t mean anything per se, but relates to the content of the film.

Since first impressions are critical, make your title puts your script’s best foot forward. Make your title have multiple layered meanings. Make it work hard like every other aspect of your script. Don’t consider it an afterthought.

Stark Sands and Laura Osnes as Bonnie and Clyde
__________________________________________________________
By Carol Davis

LA JOLLA, California —We can deny it all we want but most of us are intrigued with the glamour and glitz that goes along with most Hollywood types. In some cases it doesn’t even have to belong to Hollywood at all. I love reading about legendary figures; what they do, how they did it, how they arrived at becoming so big and how the press and public treat and/or react toward them. (Oy, poor Tiger)

There is something both mysterious and romantic about the idea of saying, “to hell with convention, I’m going to do it my way” (Frank did) because that’s usually the case when someone we read about seems larger than life.

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow were two such characters, and I use the word characters not in a demeaning sort of way, but to illustrate that they were truly characters of their own making; their very own creations who lived up to and in some ways beyond their own expectations for whatever that’s worth.

Many who saw the 1967 movie version of their escapades will remember the beautiful Faye Dunaway as the sculptured and lean Bonnie Parker and the handsome, virile and sinewy Warren Beatty on the run, bathtub lovers whose claim to fame followed them wherever they went, whatever they did even in the afterlife.

So it goes with the new Ivan Menchell (book), Frank Wildhorn (music) and Don Black (lyrics) depression era musical drama Bonnie and Clyde now in a world premiere at The La Jolla Playhouse through Dec. 20^th. What you might ask, do Bonnie and Clyde and musical theatre have to do with each other? Before I saw the show someone asked me, “Who wants to see a shoot em up musical about two pesky, self-absorbed outlaws who randomly killed innocent bystanders or anyone else who got in their way”?  Based on the opening night’s audience response, a lot, I guess!

The three creators Menchell, Wildhorn and Black come to the table with serious credits to their names. Menchell worked on the book to the musicals The Prince and the Pauper, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and now Bonnie and Clyde. He also wrote the bittersweet 1990 comedy The Cemetery Club about three Jewish widows whose husbands died and the widows are now in different stages of healing. They meet once a month at the cemetery, where the three deceased spouses lay buried, to pay their respects. It later became a movie starring Ellen Burstyn and Olympia Dukakis. Wildhorn’s Scarlet Pimpernel and Jekyll & Hyde with Black’s Sunset Boulevard complete the troika.

If anyone had any doubts that the story of the star crossed lovers, Bonnie and Clyde would be different or had somehow changed from the two outlaws that they eventually became or that the ending might be more glamorous because it is a musical, doubt no longer. Menchell relied on several sources to write the book for the show; Go Down Together: The True Untold Story of Bonnie and Clyde by Jeff Guinn, Bonnie and Clyde The Lives Behind the Legend by Paul Schneider and ‘from first hand accounts taken from the book Ambushed by Ted Hinton’.

While some practice at changing history, these collaborators, according to interviews with the creators about the making of the show, were more interested in focusing on the “tragic love triangle between Bonnie, Clyde and Ted Hinton (the Dallas County, Texas Deputy Sheriff who was the youngest of the posse that ambushed the couple and killed them outside Louisiana in 1934. He tried to court her with the approval of her mother before she met up with Clyde) and how Bonnie and Clyde were and what it must have been like for the parents to have children like this?”

To sum it up Menchell added… “We want all of it-the tragic love story, the passion, the commitment to family, everything that endears us to them-and yet still keep them homicidal”. Tongue in cheek or not, I think we got it all under the fine direction and musical staging of Jeff Calhoun and his talented pool of actors and technical staff.

It’s almost hard to believe that the couple was barely out of their teens when they met, robbed more than a dozen banks, killed 13 innocent people and were gunned down by a volley of bullets in their car and all before they were out of their twenties. What a waste of human life! Funny thing is (and the musical capsules this) they both came from decent hard working families.

Ironically, Clyde’s brother Buck (Claybourne Elder) was also drawn into the mix while his zealously religious wife Blanche (Melissa van der Schyff You’re Not Going Back to Jail) tried to keep him on the straight and narrow but he couldn’t resist the money and the excitement. On the other hand Bonnie’s devoted, both religiously and maternally, mother Emma (Beautifully and poignantly portrayed by Mare Winningham) tried to reason with and counsel her daughter to no avail as well.

The story plays out against the depression era backdrop on Tobin Ost’s multi level set of sliding bleached plank boards that frame the backdrop (used successfully for Aaron Rhyne’s projections of the real life characters which brought the story back to reality) of the different locations giving the impression and the look of a drought-ridden locale. Ost also designed the 30’s looking costumes; Bonnie’s being the most eye catching while the others are depression- era perfect.

For a new musical, Wildhorn’s score is catching, with a combination of blues, gospel, folk and ballads that reveal the moods, times and characters it depicts. The tone of The Long Arm of the Law sung by the Sheriff (Wayne Duvall) in Act I and then at the end of Act I in a reprieve are powerful reminders of who the two are and that they will get their comeuppance.

Compared to Emma’s lament, The Devil sung with passion and grief for her daughter to You Love Who You Love, (Bonnie and Blanche) You’re Going Back to Jail, (Blanche and Salon women) The World Will Remember Me (Clyde and Bonnie) and finally Dyin’ Ain’t So Bad (Bonnie and Clyde) the music’s trajectory with its differing styles moves the story but never really reveals any more about the players, their motives or drives than what we hear in their conversations or see in their actions. Some of the reprieves could be eliminated to shorten the length without taking anything away from the overall production.

Clyde was a conceited self professed bad boy who never looked back on what he did or thought, “Other people got dreams, I got plans”. For him there was no option; no plan ‘B’. And in a brief exchange when Bonnie commends his shooting skills she says, “You’re good”. “I’m not good, I’m the best” he retorts.

His biggest complaint was that Bonnie never put his name first in her poems about them. She hoped to get them published some day. (You’ve read the story of Jessie James of how he lived and how they died. If you’re still in need of something to read, here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde… Some day they’ll go down together they’ll bury then side-by-side. To few it will be grief, to the law a relief, but it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde. The Trails End by Bonnie Parker). And they were.

Stark Sands has the perfect look and mannerism as the self-confident and arrogant bad boy, Clyde Barrow who entices Bonnie to travel with him convincing her that they would be good together. He’s also in fine voice especially since this is his first musical. He shows no remorse for anything he has done, he’s that vain. Stark is convincing in his mannerisms and ways and a perfect match with Laura Osnes’ Bonnie.

Laura Osnes is a beautiful, bored and captivating Bonnie Parker whose need to escape from the humdrum world of her mother, working as a waitress in the depressed and repressive Texas and tired of her would-be suitor is a recurring theme. Between her lust for adventure and a willingness to follow Clyde into any situation and his need to be recognized at any cost, the formula for disaster is set.

Calhoun’s eye for the perfect cast is evident in the fact that there isn’t a weak link anywhere. Wayne Duvall is excellent as the out to get the pair at any cost Sheriff. Mike Sears (fresh from Man From Nebraska recently seen at the Cygnet Theatre) shows another side in multiple roles.  Chris Peluso’s Ted is strong and well meaning as well as the strong arm of the law and Michael Lanning stirred the audience with his (God’s Arms Are Always Open) number as the preacher.

Music supervisor John McDaniel who is in charge of orchestrations, incidental music and vocal arrangements conducted his six-piece band flawlessly. Michael Gilliam and Brian Ronan are right on with the mood lighting and sound design.

The trio of creators makes a perfect case for the two young lovers to wreak havoc on those around them while still having some sympathy for those left to fend off the residual effects of their actions. Mare Winningham whose role of Emma, Bonnie’s mother, has been expanded from the movie version is very much a part of the backdrop as is Clyde’s brother Buck whose loyalties lay on the side of Clyde rather than the pleas of his wife and his mother.

Menchell’s book is captivating and enticing and the two lovers create a convincing and tragic love story. Black’s lyrics are both fun and pointed and get the message across but its Wildhorn whose musical variety and mix of different genres that are the most impressive.

Like it or not is what it is and if we don’t learn from our past it will bite us in the end. Walking to my car, I heard someone actually humming a tune from the show. That’s always a good sign. Enjoy! Hats off to the La Jolla Playhouse.

Bonnie and Clyde will continue through Dec. 20^th in the Mandell Weiss Theatre.

See you at the theatre and Happy Chanukah!

*
Davis, a San Diego based theatre reviewer, may be contacted at davisc@sandiegojewishworld.com

Alfred Hitchcock and Billy Wilder will never be mistaken as optimists.

In fact, their movies reflect the thoughts of famous crime writer
Raymond Chandler. The Big Sleep author was a fan of writers that “gave murder back to the people who committed the crime.”

He respected writers like Dashiell Hammett because they created a
world without hope and without elements of synthetic uplift. He probably wouldn’t have enjoyed the screenplay to Freedom Writers. But an era of film grew out these ideas and began to represent a darker image of the great depression: film noir.

The genre lasted roughly from 1940 and 1960 and was synonymous with murder, passion, revenge, sex, cigars and fedoras (think Humphrey
Bogart and not Jason Mraz).

Here are my top 10 favorite film noir pictures.

1. Double Indemnity (1944) — This might be the best fast-paced screenplay ever written. Chandler and Wilder wrote the script together, and even though they hated working with each other, they created a timeless piece. Fred McMurray delivers his lines with sexual arrogance that wasn’t seen in his family pictures prior to the film, Barbara Stanwyck is the perfect femme fatale and Edward G. Robinson is phenomenal. The unsubtle sexuality in this film is awesome, and it’s surprising that Wilder got away with the shot of McMurry and Stanwyck ready to get busy.

2. Strangers On A Train (1951) — This is my favorite Hitchcock picture. Robert Walker is very creepy and awesome. The homosexual undertones of his character probably went over everyone’s head in 1951. Farley Granger is very good, but not as good as in Rope — and some might argue his adult films in the late 70s. I’d give to much away if I gave plot details. This is a must-see.

3. Sunset Boulevard (1950) — I know, it’s boring to have two Wilder films in the top three, but what other movie starts with William Holden floating in a swimming pool? Exactly.
Aging Gloria Swanson is perfect for the role of a psychotic movie star who is … well, aging.
Also, it’s a great film for one liners like “Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up,” and “I am big! It’s the pictures that got small.”

Raising Kane: Orson Welles is as bad as they come in the extremely underrated Touch Of Evil.

4. Touch Of Evil (1958) — Orson Welles at it again. This movie goes in about 20 different plot directions much like The Big Sleep, which makes it chaoticly cool. Janet Leigh is hot, which is somewhat awkward to say. Charlton Heston rocks a classic ’stache and plays a Mexican (I’m not making this up). Supposedly, there was a lot of tension between Heston and Welles behind the scenes.

5. The Maltese Falcon (1941) — This is just a movie where Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) walks around San Francisco and says cool things. It’s also a film where it’s as good as the book. Anyone who says otherwise is the type of person who wants Hooper to die at the end of Jaws. John Huston did a great job recreating Hammett’s novel.

6. Notorious (1946) — A classic Hitchock film where you see Cary Grant actually playing an unpleasant character. In fact, his character (T.R. Devlin) is kind of a dick. Personally, Ingrid Bergman has always annoyed me, but the movie is fantastic anyway. The Master of Suspense does is again.

7. The Big Sleep (1946) — This time Bogart walks around L.A. and says cool things. This is a great adaptation of Chandler’s novel by Howard Hawks. Bogart and Bacall have awesome chemistry here.

Here's Looking at You: Humphrey Bogart was a film noir icon

8. Angels With Dirty Faces (1938) — This is clichéd James Cagney here, but what else do you want from him? Don’t miss the ending of this one.

9. Out of the Past (1947) — This might be Robert Mitchum’s best role, and Jane Greer rivals Stanwyck for best noir femme fatale. The plot is Hitchcock, like where a gas-station owner has an extremely shady past. But if you think about it, isn’t that most gas-station workers?

10. The Killers (1946) — This classic noir flick is based on a short story by Ernest Hemingway which is perfect for the genre’s bleak view — mainly because Hemmingway shot himself. This is the screen debut of Burt Lancaster, who is a personal fave.

As it turned out, Aunt Somebody agreed (reluctantly) to do Barry’s production of Passing in the Night—but only on the condition that he would not use her name in any of the advance publicity as marquee lure; she preferred for audiences to simply discover her when they came to see the show, and for word-of-mouth to do the rest.  Barry was miffed about this, for although he had not been depending solely on his stepmother’s participation in the play to sell tickets, he had hoped that news of her presence would offer an air of importance and class (not to mention press coverage) to the opening of the Barrymore Dinner Theatre, as it was to be called.  Still, his having actually secured her services as Regina Davenport was, in itself, almost more than he had dared hope for…and he suspected, correctly, that the possibility of WeeWee’s also being in the show had ultimately made it happen.

“I hope you know that I’m only doing this for you,” said Aunt Somebody drily to WeeWee just after she had phoned Barry to accept the role.  “I’m probably out of my gourd…but I suppose it will be fun, and it’ll certainly make the summer go fast.”

Next, she called WeeWee’s father to discuss his being allowed to stay with her through the summer in order to take part in the show.  He was more easily convinced than the boy had expected, especially when Aunt Somebody assured him that no contracts would be involved; the enterprise was entirely volunteer-based, with its cast members culled from the local college and community theatres.  Moreover, she said, pacing back and forth during the phone conversation (and winking at WeeWee as he sat grinning at her), she was getting quite accustomed to having this delightful young man around, and perhaps it was selfish of her, but she sincerely hoped to be able to keep him around for a bit longer, if it were at all possible.   WeeWee’s father laughingly agreed, saying that he had already talked it over with his mother, and that she had been quite excited about WeeWee’s being in a musical with his great-aunt…as long as he was home in time to begin the new school year, which had been his own single concern.  Aunt Somebody thanked him, promised both of WeeWee’s parents complimentary tickets, and the matter was settled.

At that point, WeeWee had yet to be officially cast in Passing in the Night, but with time growing short before the show was to go into rehearsal for its early August opening, Barry had more or less approved him to play Owen Stanton on good faith.  Just for the benefit of experience on WeeWee’s part, though, a reading was scheduled for three days later, the last of June, and Aunt Somebody drove him down to Barrymore Park at eight that evening so that he could do it in the actual performance space, when the restaurant had closed for the night.

The park itself was large, pleasant and well-kept.  It consisted mainly of a wooded campground, with a scattering of small, neat cabins and a lake for fishing.  There were biking trails, a walking path and the restaurant, wide and low, right in the middle of everything, with an office attached.

Barry was closing up the office just as WeeWee and Aunt Somebody arrived.  He called a cheery hello and led them into the restaurant, which was attractively decorated and softly lighted by flame-shaped bulbs in sconces all around the main dining area.  Twenty-odd round tables, freshly wiped-down and straightened, ringed a square of tiled dance floor that measured perhaps ten by ten feet.  Barry pointed to this and said, “Well, there’s your stage.  All of it.”

Aunt Somebody, who had been to the restaurant many times, looked around dubiously.  “How do you expect exits and entrances to be made, with no wing space?”

Barry went on to explain that the wings would be created from large black draperies hung over metal bars, placed diagonally in the corners on two opposite ends of the room.  The actors would remain behind these when they were not onstage.  The small band would be in one of the two remaining corners, and the stage manager would be in the other, to operate the light switches, although there would be no major lighting effects.  Nor would there be any amplification, and the production would make use of only minimal set pieces and props which the actors themselves would move on and off. 

“It’s the principle of KISS,” said Barry with a grin.

“Kiss?” 

“Keep It Simple, Stupid.”

The stage manager, John, who was to have read with WeeWee, could not be there that night, and so Barry asked Aunt Somebody if she would read his scenes with him.  “Sure,” she said.  Barry handed her a script, and she walked to join her very eager (and nervous) great-nephew in the center of the dance floor.  Barry gave them the page number of the scene–the first meeting between Owen Stanton and Helen Davenport, right after they boarded the cruise ship–and the reading began.

WeeWee cleared his throat and spoke his first line as Owen.  “Extraordinary, isn’t it, miss, the therapeutic effect of the Pacific on one’s nerves?”

Aunt Somebody replied in character as Helen, just as she had in the film thirty-eight years before, her voice clear and resonant.  Hearing her gave WeeWee chills.  “It certainly is.  But I shouldn’t think someone as young as you would need therapy for his nerves.”

Barry spoke up from where he was sitting at one of the tables, toward the middle of the room.  “Okay, I’m going to stop you both right there, just for a minute.”  Looking at WeeWee, he said, “Remember that you’re talking to the audience, not just the character of Helen.  Well, you are talking to her in theory…but everyone out here…”  He waved a hand around the general area.  “…Needs to be able to hear you, too.  So make sure you project.  Let’s try it again.”

WeeWee nodded and began once more.  “Extraordinary, isn’t it, miss, the therapeutic–”

Barry broke in before he could finish the line.  “Sorry, bud…I still need you to be louder.  I’m not that far away, and I can barely hear you.  During the actual performance, you’ll have to be heard over people talking in the audience, because people are disgustingly rude and they will talk…plus, the kitchen help will be slam-banging around in the back, cleaning up.  And when you have people sitting at these tables, they’ll soak up the sound, too.  So really, really get your voice out there.  If you think you’re talking too loud, you’re at the level you need to be.  Feel like you’re shouting, okay?  Go ahead when you’re ready.”

WeeWee made a fresh start, but he hadn’t gotten even two words out before Barry interrupted him this time.  “Can you do a British accent?”

“Yeah…I think so.”  WeeWee chastised himself silently for forgetting that Owen was British.  He himself often used a British accent while playing with his action figures, particularly for the villains, so he’d had plenty of practice at it.  And of course, Alexander the Avenger wouldn’t be half as menacing with a Midwestern twang.

“Great.  Want to give that a try?

“ExtrOHdineddy, isn’t it, miss, the thera-PYOOtic ee-fect of the—”

Barry and Aunt Somebody burst out laughing.  WeeWee felt his ears turning red, and he smiled self-consciously, but also with pleasure. 

“That was good!” said Barry approvingly, after he recovered.  “You have a darn good accent, there.  Keep it just like that.  Now, try the accent with the projection…and remember to enunciate.  Speak slowly and stress your consonants and the endings of your words, especially, because I’m telling you right now…half the audience will be made up of old people who can’t hear.  And I don’t want the other half of the audience to have to listen to ‘Whaddee say?  Whaddee say?’ while they’re trying to follow the plot.  Okay, once more…and I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

This time, WeeWee recited his opening line perfectly—projection, accent and all—and he and Aunt Somebody read the whole scene to the end, at which Barry rose and applauded, smiling broadly at WeeWee.  Aunt Somebody turned to him and applauded as well.

The boy glowed.  He had just read his first scene as a bona-fide actor with an Academy Award-nominated movie star.  Not bad for a kid who sat down to pee, he thought.  Not bad at all.

**********

On the drive back to her house, Aunt Somebody complimented WeeWee again on his reading.  “You have genuine potential,” she said.  “Your voice is clear and distinct and it carries well.  You should think about doing more with it, eventually.”

WeeWee happily accepted her praise.  He inhaled deeply the mixed scents…peppermint gum, leather, his aunt’s perfume…in the car, which rode like a featherbed on wheels.  He only wished they had farther to go.  He loved riding in big cars…those who preferred Corvettes and Mustangs were welcome to them.  Give him a Cadillac, a Lincoln or in this case, a Buick—built for comfort rather than speed—and he was in a state of bliss.

The whole reading had seemed like a dream to him, one from which he was half-afraid he would awaken to find himself in bed at home, or worse yet, at the Bitterwaters’.  He had never experienced anything like it—being put to the test of doing something that not everyone could do—and passing with flying colors.  It was a feeling he could get used to. 

“Was anyone else up for playing Owen?” he asked his aunt.

“I don’t believe so,” she said as she steered the car into her driveway.  “I think Barry saw something in you that day when he was here and asked if you were interested.  Incidentally, so had I, by then.”

“Really?”

Aunt Somebody put the car in park and turned off the ignition.  In the dimness of the garage, she turned to him and smiled as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve seen many things in you since you’ve been here, and they’re all good.  I just don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to tell you about most of them before.”

********** 

The next day, WeeWee called home to tell his father about the audition.  To his great surprise, his mother answered the phone.

“Hi, sweetheart!” she said with pleasure.  “How are you?”

“I’m good…is Dad at home?”

There was a slight pause before she replied, “No, honey, he went back to the motel in Glenmoore, where he was.”

WeeWee’s heart sank a little.  “Did you get together with him to talk?  He said you were going to.”

“We haven’t, yet, but we will.”  She quickly changed the subject by asking how the reading for the play had gone.  WeeWee described it to her, and told her about the character, and Barry, and what the restaurant at Barrymore was like.

“Did you have to sing?”

WeeWee explained that hadn’t been required to sing, firstly because Owen was a non-singing role, and secondly because Aunt Somebody had told Barry that she knew he could carry a tune with no problem, based on the amount of humming he did.  (“I said I’d heard you humming ‘Rose’s Turn’ the other day, from Gypsy, and you hit every single note,” she had laughed.  “I don’t know if even Merman herself could have done that without accompaniment!”) 

“Wow!” his mother said, impressed.  “You’re so talented you didn’t even have to audition!  I think you’re on your way, WeeWee!”

The boy cringed.  “Mom, I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“But I’ve always called you that.”

“I know.  That’s the problem.”

There was silence for a moment, and then WeeWee’s mother changed the subject again.  “Do you like your aunt?”

“Yeah.  She’s a lot of fun.  She’s really nice.”

“Well, I’m glad things have worked out this way…for all of us…although I do miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Mom.  Will you give me Dad’s number at the motel so I can let him know about getting the part?”

WeeWee’s father was even more congratulatory than his mother.  “That’s terrific!  You’ll be sharing the stage with a star the first time out!”  He went on to tell his son a little about his experience playing in a high school production of Bye, Bye Birdie, and encouraged him to continue on with acting in school himself if this turned out to be a good experience, because he never knew where it might lead him.  “It’s a great confidence builder,” he said.  “And I’m sure you’ll make a lot of friends.  I am seriously, seriously proud of you, pal.  Now, make sure you give me updates on how it’s going, once you get started.”

“I will,” said WeeWee.

“I’m really happy that the summer’s turned around for you the way it has…and I hope you’ve told your aunt how grateful you are to her for helping in that regard.”

“I have…Dad, were you still going to get together with Mom?  She said you hadn’t, yet.”

WeeWee’s father was quiet for a moment, just as his mother had been, and then he said, “We’re working on it.  Don’t worry about that.  Just enjoy your summer, and have fun doing the play.”

**********

Later that afternoon, WeeWee was sitting with Aunt Somebody at the kitchen table, while Faye did her nails before they headed off to another charity meeting, this time to aid the victims of a devastating tornado that had struck a town in Arkansas the previous week.  Ironically, a tornado watch had just been announced for their county over the radio that Charles had playing; the weather outside had turned ominous, with dark, low-hanging clouds, and the kitchen light was on. 

WeeWee was studying his lines for Passing in the Night.  He intended to know them cold when rehearsals began the following week.  Aunt Somebody had already enlisted his help in learning hers, by cueing her.  Faye was delighted by the news that not only had Aunt Somebody finally agreed to do the show, but that WeeWee would be joining her in the cast, and she was already throwing out ideas for their wardrobe and hairstyles.

The boy had been playing with some of his He-Man figures at the table, earlier.  They were still arranged around it in various poses, and both Aunt Somebody and Faye found them quite interesting.

“Who is this yummy thing?” asked Faye as she picked up one of them and looked it over.

“That’s He-Man.”

“Oh, really?  Well, he sure lives up to his name…blonde hair, muscles and nothing on but fur underwear.  That’s the guy for me.  I do believe I’m having hot flashes.”

Aunt Somebody leaned to peer at another figure.  “Well, this is my man, right here.  The furry red one.” 

“That’s Beast-Man,” said WeeWee.

“Like I said…” Aunt Somebody chuckled. 

Faye rolled her eyes.  “You and your bad boys.”

“I know…as if I haven’t learned my lesson by now,” said Aunt Somebody, waving her hands to dry her nails.  “Oh, this damn humidity.  Even the air doesn’t help…why did I let you talk me into doing my nails, Faye?  They won’t be dry for hours, and I’ll get all these insects stuck to them when I go out.  I swear…I’m going to sell this place and move to Arizona where I won’t have to put up with it.”

Faye began gathering up her manicure equipment.  “You don’t want to live in Arizona.”

“Yeah, you’d miss the season changes, remember?” said WeeWee, looking up from his script.

“That I would.  You’re absolutely right.  But as I get older, I find myself just detesting Ohio summers, more and more.”

Faye went to the sliding glass door that led into the backyard.  “It’s like midnight out there.”  She turned to Aunt Somebody.  “Do you think we ought to risk going out in this?”

Aunt Somebody glanced outside.  “It’s not yellow and green yet.  If it were, then I might worry.  That’s how it always got back home, right before a twister.”

“You had twisters back home?”  WeeWee’s jaw dropped.  Not only did he find his great-aunt more fascinating with each passing day, but tornadoes had always been something of an obsession with him, ever since he had seen The Wizard of Oz.

“We sure did,” she said.  “Oklahoma’s right in the middle of Tornado Alley.  Just about every spring, we had to hit for the cellar a few times.  Once, my family and I all watched one take out the whole farm next to us.  And I was alone one day, in the garden, when I looked up and saw one touching down in my dad’s pasture, about two hundred feet from me.”

“Holy shhh…”  Faye glanced quickly at WeeWee.  “…Shinola!”

“What happened?” asked WeeWee, his eyes riveted to his aunt’s face.

“It just barely grazed the ground, and then it disappeared back up into the clouds.”

“Were you scared?” 

“I didn’t have time to be scared.  It was just there and gone.” 

The suspense of the story had WeeWee picking his nails, and Aunt Somebody scowled at this, because it drove her nuts.

“Stop that.  I will not allow you to mutilate yourself while I’m responsible for you.  Faye, look at his nails.  Now, there’s the one who needs a manicure.”

“There’s not enough there to manicure.  Great balls of fire!  Those nails are a disgrace to my profession…I’m gonna be putting some tape on the ends of those fingers, boy—you see if I don’t.”

Following the former thread of conversation, WeeWee asked his aunt if she had ever known Judy Garland.

“I didn’t know her, but I met her a few times,” she said.  “The most memorable was on one of the rare occasions when I attended a party…it was at Humphrey Bogart and Betty Bacall’s house, I think…yes, that’s right.  Would have been around 1955.  Oh, could those two put on a soiree.  But yes, we wound up doing a duet together, Judy and me, of ‘The Man That Got Away’.  I’ll admit that we were both rather worse—or better, depending on how you look at it—for drinks that evening, so I can’t honestly tell you how it went over.”

WeeWee’s eyes burned, reminding him to blink.

“They call her tragic, but I never knew anyone who loved a good time as much as she did.”  Aunt Somebody’s gaze had grown faraway.  “And talent!  You talk about a gift from God!  But I’ll tell you more later.  Right now, we’ve got to step on it.”

Faye, turning back to the sliding door, said “Ooooh…there’s a man here in the window, too.”

Charles turned around for the first time from the counter, where he was putting together a blackberry pie.  “If he’s tall, dark and handsome, he’s mine.”

“No, he’s small, blue and really ugly,” said Faye, staring at the action figure, the spiderlike Webstor, whom WeeWee had thoughtfully hung at the side of the door by his miniature grappling hook and cord.

Shortly after Aunt Somebody and Faye left, the word ugly didn’t even begin to describe the state of the weather.  The sky was as black as night, and the wind had whipped into a low gale, sending the trash cans behind the garage tumbling down the driveway.  Tree branches scraped at the windows and the lights blinked several times.  Charles peered out the kitchen window anxiously and said to WeeWee, “I’m going over to my apartment and get my wireless radio, in case the power goes off.  I’ll be back in five minutes.”

WeeWee remained at the table, more frightened than he liked to admit to himself.  While he found tornadoes mesmerizing, he had no desire to confront one up close and personal.  Besides, he was worried about his aunt and her friend, out on the road.  He had always heard that a car was the worst place to be if a tornado hit.

And then he heard the low, beginning moan of the local tornado siren. 

WeeWee stood up, his eyes wide.  Shock rendered him immobile for several moments as the siren whooped up and down its melancholy scale.  He didn’t know what to do.  He wasn’t sure where the basement was, and he desperately longed for Charles to come back.   

The lights flickered one last time and went out. 

The boy fled the kitchen and blundered into the gloomy foyer, his hands thrust gingerly out so that he didn’t crash into anything.  His vague plan now was to get across the yard to Charles’s apartment, or else to meet up with him if he was on his way back.  He was too terrified to wait alone another minute.

WeeWee opened the double front doors, admitting a blast of wind so powerful that he was nearly knocked off his feet.  His first impulse was to try to shut the doors again, but the wind was too strong, and the most he could do was push at them with all his might, like Bette Davis in the thunderstorm scene in Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte.

In an instant, a tall figure in black swept into the boy’s view, hovered over him briefly, then yanked him by the arm into the foyer with a gloved hand.  The figure—a woman—leaned against the doors with her weight and finally managed to shove them closed on the roaring wind.  She turned to look at WeeWee, who stood staring at her, breathless with astonishment.  Her features were barely visible due to her veiled hat, and the darkness of the room.

Hurried footsteps echoed blessedly from the side hall as Charles returned, radio in hand.  “Did you hear the siren?…We’d better head to the basement,” he said to WeeWee with urgency.  Then he caught sight of the mysterious woman, still standing silently in the shadows.  “Who are you?” he asked, frowning warily.

The woman seemed about to reply when more footsteps sounded from the hall.  Aunt Somebody then charged into the foyer, her hair and dress windblown.  “Jiminy Christmas!” she cried.  “It’s like Judgment Day out there.  Let’s get to the basement!  Faye and I got as far as the end of Hanover, and then we heard the siren and turned around.  And look what we found on our way back!”

It was then that WeeWee and Charles noticed what she was holding…a small, wriggling dog, thrusting its head up to try to lick her chin.  “The poor thing belongs to someone—he’s got a collar, but no tags.  I couldn’t bring myself to leave him out there in this.  Isn’t he adorable?”

WeeWee, who loved all animals and had always wanted a dog, forgot the weather and the lady in black in an instant and started forward.  The dog saw him coming and struggled in Aunt Somebody’s arms, eager to greet him.

The lights flickered back on.  Aunt Somebody, smiling down at her enthusiastic burden, looked up and saw the figure standing near the front door.  Her smile instantly faded.

The two women gazed at each other for what seemed an age, before the unexpected visitor said coldly, “Hello, Mother.”

**********

Dianne Addessi closely resembled her father, just as Aunt Somebody had said.  Her hair was coal-black, her features strong.  Her eyes were dark beneath the brim of her hat, and they held no warmth at all, not even when she smiled, which was rare.

WeeWee was sitting on the sofa in the living room beside Aunt Somebody, holding the little dog, which she and Charles had decided must be some sort of Chihuahua mix.  His coat was sleek and brown, his eyes bright and happy as he lovingly licked the boy’s face, as if in appreciation for having been rescued. 

Charles had gone to the kitchen to make coffee, and Dianne was regal in a throne-like chair, watching her mother and her young cousin.

The storm had finally burst, hurling sheets of rain against the windows, which rattled from the force of the wind.  Thunder cracked and growled as lightning periodically lit up the room, whose lamps did little to dispel its shadows in the meantime.  Just minutes ago, not long after the siren had stopped, the tornado warning for the area had, thankfully, been downgraded back to a severe thunderstorm warning.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” said Dianne flatly, looking at the dog in WeeWee’s arms with sardonic wonder.  “When I was a little girl, you wouldn’t even let me have a guinea pig.”

“That’s because you weren’t home enough to take care of it,” replied Aunt Somebody.

“Not by choice,” retorted Dianne.  “I wasn’t exactly champing at the bit to be railroaded off to boarding school all the time, if you remember.”

Aunt Somebody lifted her chin.  “I can’t believe you came so far to remind me of all the mistakes I made as a mother, but I know better than to think you’re only here for a pleasant chat…so tell me, Dianne…to what do I owe this honor?”

WeeWee, taken as he was with the new, if probably temporary, addition to his aunt’s household, did not fail to pick up on the hostility between mother and daughter.  He was beginning to feel rather uneasy as the barbs exchanged between them grew more and more sharp-edged, and wondered if he ought to leave the room.

Dianne reached into her purse and drew out a cigarette, which she parked in her mouth and lit as she said, “You might be surprised how close you really are to figuring it out.”

“Please don’t do that in here,” snapped Aunt Somebody.  Nodding her head at WeeWee, she went on, sternly.  “He’s allergic.  And I don’t want the house to reek of it.  It took forever to get the smell out after I quit years ago.”

Dianne exhaled smoke, her eyebrows raised.  Then, smiling faintly, she stubbed out her cigarette in a Venetian glass ashtray on the coffee table before looking up at her mother.

“Just what suddenly possessed you to play Auntie Mame this summer, if I may ask?”

“That’s hardly any of your business.” 

“I’m almost tempted to believe that the body snatchers have been here,” remarked Dianne.  “I mean…come on.  A kid and a dog at the same time, in this house?”

Charles came in with a coffee tray, which he set down on the table.  There was a glass of milk on it as well.  Aunt Somebody thanked him, and he left.

WeeWee did not feel right about taking the milk, as neither his aunt nor Dianne made any move to pour coffee.  And anyway, the dog had fallen asleep on his lap, and he would feel bad if he woke him up.

“I think we can leave the kid and the dog out of this,” said Aunt Somebody, folding her arms.  “I’m much more interested in learning what you think you’re going to get by paying me a visit in person…as opposed to your phone call the other night.  But I guess this is an improvement over that…so far as being able to decipher what you’re saying.  Maybe next time, you should call before the cocktail hour.”

Dianne gave a short, humorless laugh; then she said, her black eyes smoldering with bitterness, “And who taught me about the cocktail hour in the first place, Mother?” 

Aunt Somebody’s voice remained perfectly controlled, as it had been all along.  “Dianne, if you have something to say, I think you’d better say it, and go.”

Her daughter gazed back at her impassively for a moment, and then she nodded.

“All right.  But I would rather say it in private, if you don’t mind.”

Aunt Somebody turned to WeeWee and gently laid a hand on his arm.  “Hon, would you please go in the kitchen with Charles for a little while?  That pie of his is probably ready by now.  Tell him to give you a piece, and give our buddy there some water.”

WeeWee obediently gathered up his sleepy new friend and headed for the door, which some instinct prompted him to close as he went out.

Not long after, the boy was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his pie and looking over the lines in the script again while the little dog, who had taken a big drink from the dish of water Charles had put down, slept soundly on his lap. 

Aunt Somebody had never mentioned the angry phone call between herself and Dianne a few days before, and WeeWee, of course, had not asked her about it.  But that call, along with what little he already knew about Dianne, and the scene he had witnessed in the living room, drew him to the conclusion that she had not dropped by today for mere pleasantry, just as Aunt Somebody had said.

That conclusion was reinforced by the raised voices which were suddenly audible in the kitchen.

“YOU OWE IT TO ME!”  Dianne was screaming.  Not shouting, but screaming.  “YOU’VE ALWAYS OWED IT TO ME, AND I WANT IT!”

Aunt Somebody’s voice came then, forceful, but not nearly as loud.  Her only distinguishable words were “childish” and “responsibility”.

“TO HELL WITH THAT!  YOU LIVE HERE LIKE A QUEEN AND EXPECT ME TO SLAVE MY GUTS OUT FOR NOTHING?”

Now, Aunt Somebody could be heard, although still not as clearly as Dianne.  “All right, this is pointless…just get out!  Go on, get out of my house!”

“YOUR HOUSE?  YOU MEAN HIS HOUSE!  THE HOUSE YOU BOUGHT WITH HIS MONEY!  THE MONEY YOU KILLED HIM TO GET!”

“I’m not going through this, Dianne!  Get out!  Now!”

“YOU WAIT!  JUST WAIT!  I’M GOING TO GET WHAT’S MINE…WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED ME TO HAVE…IF IT TAKES ME TILL YOU’RE DEAD!  OR EVEN AFTER YOU’RE DEAD!”

“I SAID GET OUT!”

The front door slammed with such force that the house shook.  A crash of thunder followed a moment later, like an echo.

**********

The storm had died down to a soft rain. WeeWee had taken his script to his room, but was having little success concentrating on it.  The little stray dog was confined to the kitchen, at the suggestion of Charles, who had gone to check on Aunt Somebody.  She had closed herself in her study following Dianne’s departure.

After a while, WeeWee heard the Buick leaving, its tires gushing on the wet driveway.  It returned only a few minutes later.  Then, Charles tapped at his door and smiled, although his face showed signs of strain.  “Dinner’s ready.”

WeeWee accompanied him downstairs, where Charles paused across from Aunt Somebody’s open study door to summon her.  Then, he checked himself, sighing deeply and shaking his head.  “So that’s what she went out for,” he murmured, softly enough that she did not hear.

Aunt Somebody was sitting with her back to the door, facing the windows behind her desk.  She was smoking a cigarette.

“She hasn’t smoked in seven years,” said Charles in the same near-whisper, more to himself than to WeeWee.  “This is not good.  This is so not good.”

It begins in the gutter…but of course. A street name, Sunset Blvd., painted on the curb above the sewer drain is a convenient way to present the film’s title, but it also tells us where we’re going: down. Even the abbreviation gives it a kind of slangy, tabloid grit. The title refers to one of the most famous arteries in Los Angeles, but it also evokes the heavy depression of the end of the day—and the movie is about the “sunset years,” and how they can be disastrously handled.

Meet Joe Gillis.

Sunset Boulevard is also about Hollywood, and its corrosive view of Tinseltown might best be summed up with one of its opening images. As we see a corpse floating face down in the swimming pool of a Hollywood mansion, the narrator savors the irony of the moment: “The poor dope. He always wanted a pool.” Hollywood is the place people go, dreaming of their own swimming pools. Little do they know they’ll end up drowned in them.

There’s another level of irony here. The corpse and the narrator are one in the same person. Sunset Boulevard is famously told from the perspective of a dead man, the late Joe Gillis (William Holden), journeyman screenwriter, cynical burnout, self-loathing gigolo. One of the most intriguing pieces of Sunset Boulevard lore is that director Billy Wilder shot an even more outrageous opening to the film: the picture fades in on the Los Angeles County Morgue, where Joe’s dead body, on a slab, begins to converse with the other stiffs, and then to narrate his story. Wilder loved the sequence, but preview audiences got the giggles at the sheer outrageousness of the thing—and it was cut before release.

Gillis begins his flashback with his struggles to make ends meet. He pitches lousy concepts to middle-management studio flunkies, and he can’t bum any more money off his indifferent agent. Spotted by a couple of repo men looking to seize his car, Joe drives into the secluded garage of a Sunset Boulevard mansion, where he is mistaken for someone else and invited in.

The two people in the house are expecting an undertaker for a dead chimpanzee. Perhaps this should have been Joe’s warning that all is not well in the old, decaying house—he also notes the melodramatic wind wheezing through the organ pipes, and the rats in the pool. Still: any port in a storm. The owner of the house is none other than Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), a silent film star. “You used to be big,” Gillis says with typical gallantry. Norma, who—for a silent star—has quite a knack for memorable phrases, replies with a memorable piece of self-justification: “I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.” When Norma finds out Gillis is a writer, she hires him to edit her sprawling screenplay, which will be the vehicle for her great comeback.

Thus begins Joe’s doomed run as Norma’s housemate, lover, and errand boy. A new pet monkey. In one especially mortifying moment, during one of Norma’s bridge games, she orders Joe to empty the ash tray—and he does. (The weirdness of the moment is enhanced by the other players, a group of silent stars whose past glories must have struck the 1950 audience as rather ghoulishly invoked: Anna Q. Nilsson, H.B. Warner, and the great Buster Keaton.) The entire film is infused with a sense of debasement and humiliation. Take, for instance, the casting of Erich von Stroheim as Norma’s butler, Max von Mayerling. Not only does Max attend to Norma’s daily needs, including the writing of bogus “fan mail” that Norma can reply to, he also happens to be her former husband and director.

The overlapping between art and life is all too unsavory here. Stroheim was indeed one of Hollywood’s most flamboyant directors in the 1920s, a career halted for a variety of reasons (including his own extravagance). He actually directed Gloria Swanson, in Queen Kelly, a film that is excerpted in Sunset Boulevard for the memorable scene of Joe and Norma watching her old movies at night. As magnetic a performer as Stroheim is, there is something uniquely uncomfortable about the similarity between actor and character.

Of course, this is magnified in the case of Swanson, who had been one of the biggest of silent movie queens—as well as the mistress of Joseph Kennedy. Sunset Boulevard was a considerable triumph for Swanson, a comeback after enduring the same sort of slow fade that Norma Desmond had suffered. She won rave reviews and an Oscar nomination as best actress, although her career did not take off in a significant way.

Swanson is very fine, throwing herself whole-heartedly into Norma’s creepiness and madness. She’s especially good during the trip to the Paramount studio lot, where an embarrassed Cecil B. DeMille (playing himself), who’s read her awful script, tries to treat her with a distanced respect. Although Wilder is clearly enjoying Swanson’s baroque performance, he can’t quite slip the essential cruelty of the casting. For instance, when Norma does her imitation of Charlie Chaplin for a bored Joe one afternoon at the house, the scene plays on a few different levels. There is distaste for Norma’s obsession with the past, and Joe’s face reflects his own sense of entrapment in this bizarre world. Once again Norma is revealed as pitiful.

Yet Gloria Swanson’s Chaplinesque mime is absolutely terrific, a wonderful impersonation by a sharp-eyed actor. This discomfiting interplay between fiction and reality may be one of the reasons Sunset Boulevard gets under people’s skins. (Wilder, incidentally, always intended the Pirandellian vibe between actor and role: he considered Mae West and Mary Pickford for Norma before settling on Swanson. Casting is such a matter of alchemy; what a different movie Sunset Boulevard would be if Mae West had taken the role and played opposite Montgomery Clift, who was cast as Joe Gillis but dropped out two weeks before shooting began.)

Billy Wilder is one of Hollywood’s greatest directors because of his genius for structure, characters, and dialogue, but also because of the rich mix of tones in his work. His comedies have a dark and sometimes morbid streak, his dramas are laced with razor-sharp humor, and his most disgusted surveys of the human animal have a tendency to blossom in sudden moments of lyricism. Much of the comedy of Sunset Boulevard, dripping with sarcasm, comes from Wilder’s love-hate relationship with Hollywood. In many ways, this is one of Wilder’s least balanced films; from the monkey funeral and the rats in the swimming pool onward, Sunset Boulevard reeks with nausea. I would offer such lesser-known Wilders as Five Graves to Cairo or A Foreign Affair or The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes as closer to the quintessential spirit of Wilder than Sunset Boulevard. The rising bile nearly overwhelms the film at times.

Could it have been Wilder’s own youthful experiences as a dancer-for-hire that caused the darker aspects of the story to take over? It has always been a somewhat murky part of Wilder’s biography as to just how much, or what kind, of gigolo he really was, but the dilemma of Joe Gillis clearly spurs Wilder to an startling intensity of feeling. Perhaps Wilder would reply that every screenwriter understands the reality of being a “kept man.” There’s a scene in which Norma takes Joe on a shopping trip for clothes (a sinister precursor to the Pretty Woman scene?), and Wilder’s camera dramatically dollies in as an insinuating salesman leans over to Joe to whisper, “As long as the lady’s paying….” That camera movement is uncharacteristic of Wilder, and points to the degree of torment poor Joe finds himself in.

This was all too much for some people, including mogul Louis B. Mayer, who suggested that Wilder should be tarred and feathered for having created such an unflattering portrait of Hollywood. The film permanently ruptured the profitable partnership of Wilder and his co-writer and producer, Charles Brackett, whose sophistication and taste had sometimes crashed against Wilder’s more savage tendencies. They did win an Oscar for their original screenplay, with a third collaborator, D.M. Marshman, Jr. The film was nominated in eleven categories, including nods for Swanson, Holden, Stroheim, and Nancy Olson (as a studio reader and oasis of sanity). Another acid portrait of the movie business, All About Eve, took the top prizes that year, with Sunset Boulevard winning for script, art direction, and Franz Waxman’s spooky music.

Norma Desmond, ready.

Sunset Boulevard has never lost its classic status (it is on the National Film Registry list of protected titles), and became enough of a cultural icon to inspire an Andrew Lloyd Webber mega-musical in the 1990s. There may be something in the poison-pen look at Hollywood that is deeply satisfying for audiences. The movie is an acknowledgment of the power of the dream factory, but also a cautionary tale of the rickety scaffolding behind the gleaming soundstages; it’s a movie that answers the question posed by the title of the original version of A Star is Born: what price Hollywood? For all those people in Joe Gillis’s Midwestern home town, who dream of going to the city of angels and drinking of the milk and honey, the movie reassures them that their own ordinary lives may not be so bad, after all. No one can miss the curdled tone of Norma’s final demented speech: “This is my life. It always will be. There’s nothing else. Just us and the cameras and those wonderful people out there in the dark….” It may be Norma’s mad delusion, but we’re implicated too: she’s looking right at us.

I put together a book-length collection of Billy Wilder interviews; check it at the publisher’s website. Sunset Boulevard is one of the ten best movies of 1950, listed here. – Robert Horton

John has begun his CalArts thesis project—a 22-mile road trip down Sunset Boulevard exploring the ephemeral space between the romance and reality of Los Angeles. To start the research process, we plan to walk the entire street in sections. Below are Gin’s impressions from the first 5 miles of Sunset Boulevard, beginning in downtown LA and heading west toward the ocean. Our walk started on Olvera Street, the oldest street in the city (1877), and continued on through the neighborhoods of Echo Park, Silverlake, and Los Feliz where we live.

Brando fue una estrella intermitente, a veces tan tenue que parecía invisible, otras tan intensa que era imposible no deslumbrarse ante él. Tuvo una vida turbulenta en lo amoroso, intensa pero agridulce, pues a pesar de tener muchas mujeres, todas ellas bellísimas y exóticas, y de compartir cinco hijos con tres de ellas, en sus últimos años dependía de la seguridad social para sobrevivir y acabó sus días completamente solo. Con 2 Oscars y otras tantas nominaciones dejó su huella en el cine no sólo con su imponente físico sino con interpretaciones que marcaron hitos en la forma de actuar y cambiando para siempre la historia del séptimo arte.

por Maite Iniesta

Biografía

Marlon Brando nació el 3 de Abril de 1924 y fue el benjamín, tenía 2 hermanas mayores. Sus padres eran aficionados al teatro, su padre trataba de ser actor, su madre era una actriz aficionada. Ambos también tenían en común dos cosas más: no fueron afectuosos con sus hijos y bebían demasiado, el padre pegaba a la madre cuando bebía y a la madre, que también bebía, le pegaba el padre por borracha… y los niños en medio, por supuesto, el  joven Brando se sentía abandonado.

Brando era un pésimo alumno, muy rebelde, contestón y arrogante, aunque gracias a su sentido del humor y a su potente físico era muy popular. Cuando llegó a la adolescencia ya era todo un hombre y se comenzó a enfrentar a su padre cuando maltrataba a su madre, éste lo mandó a una Academia Militar. En ese lugar duró poco más de un año antes de que lo expulsaran. Además volvió con una lesión de rodilla que le libraría de ir a dos guerras.

Brando llega a la Gran Manzana

Con 19 años se marchó a Nueva York, donde ya vivían sus dos hermanas mayores, una de ellas actriz. En esa época trabajó como ascensorista, camarero y hombre anuncio. Un día de ese 1943 descubrió la New School for Social Research donde había un taller dramático muy prestigioso; este Taller era un lugar de referencia para todos los jóvenes que querían ser actores. El trabajo en el Taller era riguroso y exigente y poco después de un tiempo, Brando fue expulsado.

No pasó mucho tiempo hasta que le ofrecieron una audición para un papel en una obra de teatro (‘I Remember Mama’) Consiguió el papel y el estreno fue un éxito de público y crítica. La obra estuvo en cartel 2 años. Brando se cansaba de repetir día tras día lo mismo y comenzó a cambiar el orden de las palabras o los movimientos en escena. Esta costumbre, que pocas veces tenía el beneplácito de compañeros y directores, la mantuvo durante toda su carrera y a la postre constituyó una nueva manera de interpretar que revolucionó la forma tradicional.

Cuando la compañía salió de gira por el país Brando estaba tan aburrido que se despidió por voluntad propia y no sería hasta 1947, tras muchas idas y venidas, cuando el actor triunfó en el teatro con ‘Un tranvía llamado deseo’ que resultó todo un éxito de público y crítica. Este mismo año, Brando comenzó a acudir a un psiquiatra, del que dice que nunca le ayudó, al que visitaría durante varios años para tratar de superar su ansiedad, su inseguridad, mejorar su autoestima y “no sentirse un inútil” Mientras la obra estaba en cartel, Brando asistió a un nuevo taller de teatro: el Actor’s Studio – por aquella Escuela pasaron artistas de la talla de Marilyn Monroe, James Dean o Montgomery Clift. Aunque Brando dijo en sus memorias que sólo había acudido allí “para conocer chicas”, lo cierto es que muestra la preocupación que tenía el joven actor por crecer profesionalmente.

El éxito de ‘Un tranvía llamado deseo’ no modificó su actitud ante la prensa. Los productores de la obra no conseguían que diese entrevistas y cuando lo hacía se dedicaba a inventar sucesos falsos o reflexiones disparatadas. A lo largo de toda su vida siguió manifestando su desprecio por la prensa, con la que mantuvo nefastas relaciones. Truman Capote le visitó una vez y le entrevistó para la revista The New Yorker, las confesiones de Brando se vertieron junto a una gran cantidad de vodka y por primera vez habló sin tapujos sobre su madre, el alcoholismo y el despreció que él sentía hacia la profesión, asegurando trabajar únicamente por dinero.

Nace la estrella rebelde de Hollywood

Su primer largometraje fue ‘Hombres’, donde interpretaba a un teniente parapléjico. En esta primera toma de contacto con el celuloide, Brando demostró que su magnetismo llegaba también a través de la gran pantalla.

Su ánimo bromista y travieso no le granjeó amigos entre sus compañeros de repartos, quienes  además se exasperaban con su perfeccionismo, las constantes repeticiones de tomas y las técnicas de interiorización del personaje.

‘Un tranvía llamado deseo’ se llevó pronto al cine y los productores del film querían a prácticamente todos los actores del teatro, excepto a la protagonista en la obra teatral, para la que tenían a la recién oscarizada Vivien Leigh (‘Lo que el viento se llevó’) Por esta adaptación Brando cobró la suma de 75mil dólares. La posibilidad que ofrecía el cine de obtener lícitamente mucho dinero trabajando poco tiempo fue la razón de que abandonase el teatro para siempre.

La película fue todo un éxito y todos los actores del reparto fueron galardonados con un Oscar salvo Brando, que igualmente no acudió a la entrega; su abierto desprecio por el mundo de Hollywood no debía granjearle ninguna simpatía entre los miembros de la Academia, aún y todo, fue nominado hasta en 8 ocasiones y ganador en 2 de ellas.

Brando siempre fue criticado por su dicción, no obstante, nunca dejó pasar un reto, incluso a costa de reducir su salario; tal es el caso de ‘Julio César’, una obra de Shakespeare que aceptó llevar al cine en el papel de Marco Antonio rodeado de un elenco de actores británicos, todo un desafío que superó y que hizo crecer aún más su estrella.

Pero sin duda la película de Brando fue ‘¡Salvaje!’ en la que interpretaba al líder de una banda de moteros rebeldes que se dedican a aterrorizan un pueblo. Según el propio Brando dijo en sus memorias, este personaje del cabecilla, Johnny, es el papel con el que más se ha identificado nunca. Después del estreno se sorprendió enormemente de las repercusiones que tuvo la película: su forma de vestir había conseguido imponer la moda de las chaquetas de cuero, las camiseras, los tejanos y las motos. El film hurgaba en una corriente sociocultural emergente, casi escondida, que afloraría en los años 60 y 70.

Después de unos años de trabajo Brando ya era un actor consagrado en el cine, su prestigio iba en consonancia a los contratos que le ofrecían: grandes papeles e inmejorables condiciones de trabajo (que incluía no trabajar domingos ni festivos, nunca más de 8 horas diarias, con un astronómico sueldo –muchas veces mayor que sus compañeros de reparto aunque él no fuera el protagonista- y una indemnización millonaria por cada semana de retraso en el rodaje)

Lucha política

En 1963 Brando se involucró de lleno en la lucha por los derechos civiles, participando en asambleas y manifestaciones en contra de la discriminación racial. Aunque 1968 fue un año realmente intenso en su lucha por los derechos civiles de pueblos oprimidos, ese año mataron a Martin Luther King y tanto él como Paul Newman y Babra Streisand se comprometieron a donar a la fundación que apoyaba la causa de King un 1% de sus ganancias.

El resurgimiento

Después de más de una década de decepciones en lo cinematográfico, llegó el momento de recuperar su lugar perdido. Mario Puzo declaró que cuando escribía ‘El Padrino’ pensaba en la gran pantalla y en Brando como Don Vito Corleone. No obstante, la mayor dificultad que se encontró Brando para interpretar la que sería su actuación para la posteridad residía en la necesidad de convencer a la productora, que era reacia a contratarle por su fama de problemático y además agravada por la retahíla de fracasos a su espalda. A pesar de ser uno de los grandes, Brando tuvo que hacer una prueba para el papel de Vito Corleone y despejó todas las dudas posibles: se repeinó y se introdujo dos nueces en la boca, una a cada lado, además de adoptar una voz casi afónica, áspera, sabia y sobre todo, mafiosa . El resultado fue el que todos sabemos, el personaje de ‘El Padrino’ es uno de los grandes iconos de la historia del cine y una auténtica revolución en el arte de la interpretación.

Después volvería a trabajar con Francis Ford Coppola en su ‘Apocalypse Now’, rodaje que fue toda una odisea, agravada, si cabe, por el hecho de que su gran estrella, Brando, llegó al rodaje en Manila pesando 114 kilos a pesar de su escaso 1’75 de estatura. Finalmente, salvaron las dificultades y la película fue un éxito; de hecho, a día de hoy es otra obra de culto para los cinéfilos.

Últimos tiempos

Brando siguió trabajando hasta que el cuerpo le permitió, hizo algunas películas más y bastantes cameos en otros filmes cuando la salud le dio cancha. Durante los años 90 trabajó con Johnny Depp, del que se consideraba gran amigo y del que dijo que era “el actor con más talento de la generación actual”.

Su última película fue ‘The Score, un golpe maestro’ junto a Robert deNiro y Edward Norton. Tres años más tarde, y tras haber rechazado un Oscar honorífico a toda una carrera por negarse a acudir a la gala de entrega, murió solo y pobre en su casa de Mulholland Drive, Los Ángeles, de una fibrosis pulmonar.

Quizás un duro final para un hombre que no supo mantener el afecto de aquellos que le rodeaban, tal vez porque no lo tuvo en su infancia o puede que porque era un auténtico rebelde, individualista y travieso. Brando se ha ido pero ha dejado su legado para la historia. Mientras haya humanos y haya cine habrá admiración por su obra y eso le convierte en inmortal. Puede que fuera un tipo extravagante y rebelado contra el mundo, pero ante todo y sobre todo fue un genio.

BROADWAY BABIES: After they co-starred in Evita, she went on to recreate stellar stage roles at home and abroad in Sunset Boulevard, Anything Goes,

MANDY & PATTI: together in T.O.

Sweeney Todd and Gypsy and on screen in the hit TV series Life Goes On. He graduated to Sunday In The Park With George, made his mark on the big screen in The Princess Bride and Yentl, then scored a hit in three top-notch TV series, Chicago Hope, Dead Like Me, and Criminal Minds. But they always were, and still are, traffic-stopping singers who remain dream-come-true interpreters of Broadway’s greatest composers. The good news is, they’re together again at last, on a rare reunion concert tour. The better news is, they’re coming to Toronto. An Evening With Patti Lupone & Mandy Patinkin will rule the Royal Alex for one short week only, Feb. 9-14, and tickets are already on sale. So don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Because this will truly be a night to remember.

NO, NOT THAT MADONNA: After kicking off its 40th (!!!) anniversary season with Brad Fraser’s high-octane crowd-pleaser True Love Lies, Factory Theatre reportedly has another big winner in The Madonna Painter. After a

HUDSON: that's Mrs. Mandela to you

week of buzz-provoklng previews the world premiere of Michel Marc Bouchard’s theatrical parable, directed by Eda Holmes, opens tonight with a stellar cast including Bartholemew Fair scene-stealer Juan Chioran, who’s already set to headline the Stratford revivals of Kiss Me Kate and Evita next season. In Bouchard’s play, set in rural Quebec at the end of World War I, a village priest commissions a fresco dedicated to the Virgin Mary to protect his parishioners from a flu epidemic, and assistant director Cory O’Brien hints that the synergy between the premise of the play and our current H1N1 headlines was downright eerie. “Coughing rattles throughout the rehearsal hall,” he blogged two weeks ago. “Either our actors are overly ‘method’ or we’ve encountered a very strange coincidence. In a play filled with the ominous threat of the Spanish flu our cast has fallen sick. Stay home? Or come to rehearsal? Ginseng. Hand sanitizer. Cold formula tea. To get the flu shot or not to get the flu shot. That is the question.”

Should be fascinating to see who makes it to the stage tonight.

NO PEOPLE LIKE SHOW PEOPLE: Glee club guru Will Schuester (aka Matthew Morrison) and rabid cheerleading coach Sue Sylvester (aka Jane

MORRISON & LYNCH: Glee-full

Lynch) got together last week when Morrison stopped by the off-Broadway’s theatre to catch Lynch and Tyne Daly in the current Nora & Delia Ephron hit Love, Loss and What I Wore … Lisa Ray, currently being treated for multiple myeloma, is preparing for a stem cell transplant to treat her rare cancer. Next week the gorgeous star of Water and Bollywood/Hollywood starts a two-week procedure that involves releasing her own stem cells back into her blood to “reboot” her system before any further treatment … Jennifer Hudson will go to South Africa next spring to star in a screen biography of Winnie Mandela, the controversial ex-wife of Nelson … and L.A. audiences got an unexpected bonus last week when Dick Van Dyke joined the national touring cast of Mary Poppins for their curtain call at the Ahmanson Theatre.

TOMORROW:

Lily in Las Vegas

-/-

Switching gears from the horror/noir/gothic kick I’ve been on lately, I would like to devote this post to Lone Scherfig’s new film An Education.  While this movie is not a horror film per se, it does touch upon one of the themes that has come up recently in discussing such previously blogged-about  films as Rosemary’s Baby, The Others, The Exorcist and even Sunset Boulevard.  Namely, this movie shares with these other films the major thematic touchstone of the “trapped woman”.  The idea of a 1960’s British teenager who falls in love with an older man might not readily conjure up the images of, respectively, a woman raped by the devil, a woman trapped inside a haunted mansion, a girl possessed by the devil, or a delusional elderly woman secluded from the outside world due to her own warped convictions, An Education puts its heroine, Jenny, in a position that is just as helpless and harrowing as that of Rosemary’s, Graces’, Regan/Chris’ and Norma’s.  The one thing that keeps An Education, fine film that it is, from reaching the artistic heights of these others is the ending.  But, we’ll get into that later.

First off, you should absolutely eat up all of the superlative praise out there on the interwebs for Education’s lead actress Carey Mulligan.  This girl has chops.  She carries almost all of the emotional weight of a very emotional narrative, and does so without once ringing a false note.  She will win many awards for her work in this film and she will deserve all of them.  Playing alongside Ms. Mulligan is Peter Sarsgaard, who does what Peter Sarsgaard does best: play a creep.  I do not mean this in a pejorative sense; this film is reliant upon an actor in the David role who is able to come across as both creepy and charismatic simultaneously.   David seduces half-his-age Jenny and quickly reveals himself as a morally fuzzy suitor; yet despite Dave’s rough spots, the audience must never doubt that Jenny can be wildly attracted to this man.  Sarsgaard skates this line with aplomb.  Alfred Molina is his usual excellent self in the role of Jenny’s strict but vulnerable father.  Other notable cast members are Emma Thompson as the headmaster of a private school and Olivia Williams as a private school English teacher, a role that has interesting parallels to her role in one of my favorite films of the 1990s: Rushmore.  In Rushmore, Williams plays a private school teacher seduced by a much younger boy, whereas in Education she plays a teacher advising a young girl who is seduced by a much older man.  Her facial expression is very similar in both films — she plays both roles so well that I think she should slap a trademark on the “I’m upset at this romance involving incongruently-aged people” face.

An Education is Nick Hornby’s first foray into scriptwriting since 1997’s Fever Pitch (not the 2005 Jimmy Fallon Red Sox film, although this was also based on Hornby’s novel of the same name).  Education’s script is very well-written, with a slowly building sense of dread punctuated with moments of deep despair along with a sprinkling of humor.  Much of the light-hearted moments are piled on in the beginning of the film, and I noticed that many people in the audience at the Fifth Avenue Cinemas in Vancouver, BC really wanted to keep the good times rolling long after the initial Jenny/Dave meet-cute stops being cute and one realizes that Jenny has painted herself in a corner that she may never get out of.  Gleeful guffaws became nervous laughter which tapered off into pointed silence as the situation worsened and a story that could have veered into RomCom treacle instead carried through with the sometimes uncomfortable implications of its setup and its characters.  Imagine that.

However, as I brought up earlier, the ending left me feeling like a double-crossed Bubble-Lub.  The film earned my trust and then squandered it with the employment of a voiceover and a syrupy pan out in the final scene of the film.  I’m not entirely anti-voiceover, but there had not been a voiceover up to this point in the movie, so why introduce one  in the very last scene?  Rosemary’s Baby, The Exorcist, The Others and Sunset Boulevard all have very effective endings.  The endings of all of these films ensure that the feeling that had been cultivated throughout will linger in the filmgoer’s mind long after the theatre has been deserted.  Sunset Boulevard, which employs heavy voiceover from the beginning (granted, the acerbic voiceover of a dead man), is witty enough to eschew voiceover in its final scene in favor of a Norma Desmond monologue that is, in the final shot of the film, drowned in black like the overpowering delusions within Norma Desmond’s mind.  Boulevard features one of the best endings in the history of popular film.  An Education, however, fizzles.   I realize that it isn’t fair to require that every film hold up to the standard of Sunset Boulevard, but still you get my point.  The narrative ending of Education didn’t bother me necessarily, but the spell invoked by the film prior to the final scene was broken by an uninteresting and too-neat visual and auditory wrap-up that comes across as lazy.  It just doesn’t do justice to a very well-paced, well-acted and otherwise well-made movie.  Regardless, I still recommend it — I simply suggest that you ignore the ending in the way that a teenager might look past the glaring faults of an otherwise sophisticated lover.

You see, this is my life! It always will be! Nothing else! Just us, the cameras, and those wonderful people out there in the dark!… All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.

Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard

Every time I talk about top 10 lists,  I always start with the  disclaimer that I know  how pointless they are.

And then I ask myself:  OK, if they are  so pointless, why do I have so much fun reading them and doing  them and sharing them?

No good answer, In fact, making lists is far from the only pointless thing I do.

Today, I am adding some new films and slightly changing the order.   It is not a 10 best list.  It is a list of my ten favorites. A  list of 10 best films  would be beyond nervy given how many films have a legitimate claim to inclusion.

But it seems perfectly fair to make a list of ten favorites since they are, in fact,  only my favorites.

My favorites have stayed the same for over a year.  But for the last few months I have been mulling over “No Country for Old Men”  and “The Lives of Others.” (Now I can really hear you saying: This guy need a life! Who has time to mull anything over?)

Seriously, I want to make some changes to my list.  But according to ground rules that some friends of mine and I set up many years ago in a UCLA dorm room, I have to remove one film for each one I add.  I posted my last 10 favorite about a year ago. Here is my new one along with a list of contenders.

Comments welcome. Lists welcome. Ridicule welcome.

My Ten Favorite Films as of November 15, 2009

1. Dekalog

2. Godfather 1/Godfather 2

3.  Salesman

4. The Lives of Others

5. Amarcord

6.  Goodfellas

7  No Country for Old Men

8  Fargo

9. Rear Window

10 Night and Fog

__________________________________

Other Contenders (not in order)

Midnight Cowboy

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

Au Revoir les Enfants

Shop on Main Street  (1965)

It’s a Wonderful Life

Jeux interdits

Come and See

Smile

Atlantic City

Three Kings

Das Boot

The General

Paris, Texas

Shoah

Invaders from Mars

Strangers on a Train

The Graduate

The French Connection

Double Indemnity

Les Enfants du Paradis

Les Diaboliques

Psycho

Le Salaire de la peur

Sunset Boulevard

The Exiles

The Last Laugh

Hotel Terminus

Happiness

The Third Man

M

The Marriage of Maria Braun

In Pacific Palisades, California less than a mile from the Pacific Ocean located directly off of that famous boulevard, Sunset, is one of the most peaceful places on the planet.

Okay, I haven’t visited every place on the planet to make that claim.  This place is pretty peaceful though and serene and beautiful and lush…are you getting the picture, yet?  This place is the Self Realization Fellowship Temple: Lake Shrine.  It was dedicated in 1950 by Paramahansa Yogananda, author of the book, Autobiography of a Yogi.

Mahatma Gandhi considered Paramahansa Yogananda one of his friends and his yogi.  Out of respect, while some of Gandhi’s ashes were strewn in his beloved India, the rest were sent to Paramahansa Yogananda for this peace memorial.

Mahatma Gandhi was a true man of peace, gaining India’s freedom through non-violence.  I feel he would be very pleased to know that some of his remains are located in such a beautiful and peaceful place.

Near the end of tonight, I was almost dropping fistfuls of candy in the bags of what few trick-or-treaters showed up at our house, because the evening was pretty much of a loss for me and my big witch hat.

Despite the low turnout, one of our dogs was in heaven. This old animal can never get enough attention, particularly from squealing young girls. Fortunately, those were our primary visitors tonight, and they arrived in a fairly tight time clump, so the aged beast could just wait patiently at the open door for the next group of shrieking and head-scratching arrivals, instead of constantly having to creak down a set of stairs from the living room to the foyer.

When I first moved to this house, the neighborhood annually went through a Halloween assault by doorbell-ringing candy lovers, but over the years, the action has shifted to La Subida Drive, a well-traveled thoroughfare about two blocks away. It’s 9 pm here, and my husband, who just arrived home from work, says that right now La Subida looks like Sunset Boulevard in 1969.

But it’s all quiet on the western front here, and the evening has been so mellow that, for a while, I was reduced to taking photos of myself in my hat.

Because my husband anticipated another low turnout this year, I was firmly instructed to buy bags of candy that he liked to eat, as opposed to what I will consume (my teenager will eat Leftover Anything with Sugar). I received these orders several days ago because my husband is still bitter about the jawbreaker-sized Lemonheads that I spontaneously purchased in gross two years ago. This year, he wanted less creativity with the Halloween candy and more chocolate.

So he’s got it now.

At a little past noon, Aunt Somebody breezed into the kitchen accompanied by a short, plump lady in green chiffon and a white hat, whom she introduced to WeeWee as Faye Cooper.  Faye was a neighbor and friend, and had just come from the meeting with her.  WeeWee returned her cheery greeting, and thanked Aunt Somebody for letting him look at the photo album.  She nodded and told him he could keep it for a while and look at it again, if he wanted to, which he did, very much, as his initial once-over had merely scratched the surface of the treasures within.  He now wanted to ask her for details on some of the items he’d read about, but she didn’t seem any more inclined to discuss her career at this time than she ever had been, especially since she was in such a high temper about what she declared had been a complete waste of the morning.

“As usual, half of the group didn’t show up, and the other half hadn’t done what they were supposed to do since the last time we got together.  I swear, it’s a good thing those women are rich and don’t have to work, because they’d really be sunk if they did.”  Aunt Somebody poured glasses of iced tea for herself and Faye, and sat wearily down at the table. 

“So true,” said Faye soothingly.  “But take comfort in the fact that since we’re doing all the work, we’ll get all the credit when the shelter goes up.”

“I guess so.”

Faye reached across the table for the photo album.  “What’s this…a scrapbook?”  Her eyes widened as she opened it, and she looked mock-accusingly at Aunt Somebody.  “Hey—you never showed me this.”

Aunt Somebody gave the album a brief glance.  “Oh, it’s all old news…nothing you don’t already know about.”  Turning to Charles, who was beginning to prepare lunch, she said, “We’re hungry.  All we had this morning were muffins.  What’ve you got for us?”

“Chicken stir-fry,” he replied.

Faye’s eyes widened even more.  “Not your famous chicken stir-fry.”

“Is there any other?”

WeeWee quickly took a liking to Faye, who was bright and lively, with a great sense of humor.  She was also not a bit shy about asking his aunt questions about her days in Hollywood as she flipped through the photo album, and he listened eagerly to her answers.

“It says here you were supposed to work with Clark Gable,” said Faye, peering at one faded magazine article.  “You never did, though, did you?”

“Ha!”  Aunt Somebody broke a breadstick in half and bit off the end of one piece, chewing as she replied.  “I wish.  But Zenith would never have spent that much money on one of my pictures.  Besides, Gable was at MGM, and they weren’t about to loan him to anyone.”

“What a shame…he was to die for.”

Aunt Somebody made a gesture of dismissal.  “Onscreen, maybe.  And he was a very nice guy in real life, but I could just never get past those ears.”

“You met Clark Gable?”  WeeWee leaned in closer to his aunt.  At last, a real conversation was under way!

“Not formally, but I was in the same room with him once or twice.”  Aunt Somebody settled back in her chair and folded her arms, an expression of bemused resignation on her face as she finally yielded to holding court for her great-nephew and giving a discourse on the good old days of yore.

“Many people are under the misconception that all the stars knew each other back then, and even now.  Not true.  If you worked at the same studio, yes.  Hollywood in those days was like any other factory town.  The studios were the factories, and it was the same as if you worked at a steel mill or something…you never met the guy who worked at the textile plant down the road.  The only time I met actors from other studios was when I attended parties and such.  And that really wasn’t my cup of tea.”

“Why not?”  WeeWee helped himself to a breadstick without looking away from his aunt’s face.

“Because I wasn’t into a lot of the Hollywood nonsense and hoo-ha,” she said simply.  “Show business, probably more than any other, is built on who you know, not what.  It certainly would have been to my advantage to have mingled more socially, but I was too sensible and down-to-earth for a lot of the silliness that went on.  Remember, I was a farm girl from Oklahoma.  That’s about as grounded as one can get.  And that’s probably why I never reached the top of the ladder out there in Tinseltown.  I also lacked what you would call a killer instinct, to squash the competition.”

“Albert Becker!” exclaimed Faye, looking at the full-page ad for Two Ships Passing.  “Now, you have to admit that he was fine, and you worked with him.”

“Yeah, Al was all right,” agreed Aunt Somebody.  “He was another one who never really got the breaks he should have.  His family came first, and he was very frank about that.”

“Speaking of breaks…and family…” said Faye, looking up with a predatory leer.

“I already know what’s coming, and I don’t want to hear another word,” said Aunt Somebody, raising a hand to silence her.

“What?” asked WeeWee, looking from face to face, mystified.

“Yes, tell him what,” shot Charles over his shoulder to his employer as he fried vegetables.

“You just concentrate on cooking,” snapped Aunt Somebody.

Faye turned to WeeWee.  “Charles and I are so glad you’re here, because we need another ally on our side in this…”

“Faye!”  Aunt Somebody slammed her hand down on the table.

“What?” asked WeeWee again, grinning uncertainly.

“Nothing.”  Aunt Somebody glared at Faye across the table.  “She just can’t keep her big trap shut about what doesn’t concern her.  Never could.”

“This might concern me,” said Faye innocently. 

“Don’t count on it.”  Aunt Somebody picked up the morning newspaper from the counter behind her and whipped it open to close the conversation.  Faye winked at WeeWee and started to mouth something at him that he couldn’t make out.  It seemed to be “cowboy”, but that made no sense. 

Aunt Somebody apparently deduced what was going on, for she lowered her paper and said severely to Faye, “Don’t.”

“I’m recruiting him.  You need encouragement, and he’s going to help us give that to you.”

“I’m going to give you a good swift kick in the ass if you don’t knock it off.”

WeeWee dissolved into hysterics at this, and Faye turned to him in mock horror. 

“Isn’t she awful?”

“Encouragement for what?” asked WeeWee after he had recovered.  But no answer came from any of them, except another wink from Faye.

During lunch (Charles’s chicken stir-fry was justifiably famous), WeeWee spoke up more and asked what he felt were some intelligent questions about Aunt Somebody’s career, as the topic had finally been broached by Faye, who had plenty of questions of her own.  WeeWee got the impression that Aunt Somebody did not discuss her Hollywood days much with her, either, familiar as they were.  And while her memory of that period seemed to be good, she kept her answers brief and to the point, almost as though she preferred not to elaborate.  A couple of times, she even changed the subject, but Faye quickly changed it back. 

“My God, you’re worse than Hedda and Louella,” Aunt Somebody complained when Faye asked if she had ever had a crush on a co-star.

“You’re right…I am!” Faye cackled.  “Honestly, what’s there to be ashamed of if you did?  It’s all the rage now to kiss-and-tell, anyway.  I don’t know why you don’t write a book!”

“Who’d read it?”

“I would!” chorused WeeWee and Faye together.  Then Faye said to Aunt Somebody, “My dear, you don’t give yourself enough credit.  For almost ten years, you were a box-office draw, and those aren’t easily forgotten…even when they drop out of sight completely.  Look at Garbo.”

Aunt Somebody sniffed.  “I am…or was, rather…hardly Garbo.”

“That’s beside the point.  You know what I’m talking about.  And an autobiography would be a terrific chance to tell your side over the years.  About everything.”  Faye placed a firm emphasis on her last word, and WeeWee knew exactly what she meant.

Aunt Somebody was quiet for a moment after this, and stirred her coffee thoughtfully.  Then she looked up at them and said, with a hint of sadness in her tone, “I’m sure…but you see, the only important parts of those years—and the only ones I care to remember now—are on film.”

“So, with that said, the notion of an autobiography is rather redundant.”

Right then, Charles returned to the kitchen, having been summoned away by the telephone.  “I just took two calls for you,” he said to Aunt Somebody.  “One from Barry, and one from Dianne.”

Aunt Somebody frowned.  “Well, I know what Barry wants…” (She flashed a dark look at Faye, who smiled sweetly back at her.)  “Dianne…what’s that about?  Christmas is still over six months off.”

Charles shook his head.  “She didn’t say more than that she needed to talk to you and would call again later.”

Aunt Somebody nodded and went back to stirring her coffee.  WeeWee caught a glimpse of concern in Faye’s eyes as she glanced at her. 

**********

Later that afternoon, when Faye had gone, WeeWee was sitting with Aunt Somebody at a table in the garden.  He was drawing and she had been reading a novel, but had put it aside in favor of watching him.  The boy sensed that this was not merely due to politeness on her part, but a genuine interest in his work.

“Alexander the Avenger…” she said as she lowered her tinted glasses to study another sketch in the stack that WeeWee had on the table.  “May I ask what he’s the avenger of?  Or whom?”

WeeWee had never told anyone about his fantasies of getting back at some of the kids at school through his Alexander the Avenger characterization.  He was hesitant to explain this to his aunt now, as he wasn’t sure she would understand or approve, but some instinct led him to open up. 

“He’s…kind of like another side of me.  He’s a wizard, and he’s really powerful.”

“An alter ego,” said Aunt Somebody, nodding.  “Yes, I see.”

WeeWee had never heard that term before, but he liked it.  It sounded majestic and mysterious, like Alexander the Avenger.

He went on.  “Sometimes I tell stories to myself about things that happen at school, and I put him in them so they turn out different.  I mean, like, I’m him in the story, instead of me.”

Aunt Somebody laid down the drawing she had and took up another one, which also featured Alexander.  “Mm-hm.  And what sort of things happen at school, that you want to change through…becoming Alexander the Avenger?”

WeeWee looked down at the half-completed sketch in front of him for a moment before he answered her, quietly.  “Well…I get picked on a lot.”

“So did I.”

The boy looked up at his aunt in surprise.  It was the last thing he had expected her to say.  To him, she appeared everything that the world at large would want to be if it could…attractive, smart, talented, famous (even if she didn’t acknowledge it often), wealthy.  And he had pictured her as nothing less than popularity personified when she had been in school.

Aunt Somebody read his mind.  “I suppose it may be hard for you to believe, but I never fit in when I was young.  My family was incredibly poor…that was back during the Depression, you know.  The kids at school laughed at my clothes…my mother made them, and they looked ridiculous on me, especially as I grew older.  My dresses all had these silly puffed sleeves, and skirts that were too short.  I was heavy when I was young, too, and they called me Cowgirl, because of that, and because I lived on a farm.”

“I was never much into the playground games and kid stuff that the other girls my age were.  I was a loner.  And I think I knew, deep down inside, even then, that I was meant to walk a much different path than those others, that I had been given certain gifts and…tools, if you will, to be able to do it.  It wasn’t until later that I found out just what those gifts were, but early on, my schoolmates seemed to sense that I had something they didn’t…that I was special, somehow, and that’s why they didn’t like me.”

“Look at it this way…the most talented people are the ones who have the most to pay for.”  Aunt Somebody looked WeeWee in the eye as she concluded, “I think you’re another one who’s got a lot of special talents on his side.”

There was silence between them for a time, as WeeWee processed this, and then Aunt Somebody said, “At any rate, these drawings are very good.  Have you ever thought of putting them together in a book?”

“No, not really,” said WeeWee, but he had to admit that it sounded like a good idea.

“Then we’ll have to do something about that.  How long are you here for, again?”

WeeWee smiled hesitantly.  “I don’t know…I think Dad said a few weeks, when you invited me.”

“That’s not very long,” said Aunt Somebody with a small smile.  “We might have to do something about that, too.”  She drummed her nails on the tabletop for a moment, and then, her tone serious, she spoke again. 

“I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

Again, WeeWee stared up at his aunt, astonishment plain on his face.  “I’m not disappointed.”

She looked at him knowingly.  “Oh, I think you were, just a bit, when you came here last night.”  Before WeeWee could protest, she went on.  “I don’t blame you…I understand completely.  I’m not exactly what you would expect a movie star—even a retired movie star—to be like, am I?”

WeeWee had gotten the impression before now that his great-aunt was not easily fooled, and that she would very quickly detect a lie for what it was.  And so he responded to her question with the truth.  “Yeah…maybe a little.  But you’re…I still think you’re really cool.  It just took a while to, you know…”

“To adjust your expectations?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Aunt Somebody folded her hands and rested her chin on them as she looked at him.  “That’s what I thought.  And that’s okay.  But yes, I’m a long way from Bette Davis or Lana Turner.  I can’t even remember the last time I wore an evening gown.  I gave away all my furs years ago because I don’t believe in killing animals for their pelts…and I quit smoking when my third husband, Kevin, was diagnosed with lung cancer.  So that just leaves my jewels, which I haven’t worn for years, either…only the paste copies.”

“Even with the career I had, I’ve never been one to live in the past.  That’s why you don’t see any photos of me as a glamour girl around the house.  And I could tell that you wanted to talk Hollywood last night when you arrived…but I wanted you to know first that there was a real old lady underneath the glitzy, glamorous broad of yesteryear.  Hopefully, you’ll like her just as much.”

WeeWee smiled.  “I do.”

“Good.”  She returned his smile.  “I like you, too.”

“Thank you for inviting me here, Aunt Somebody.”

She looked at him quizzically.  “I beg your pardon?”

WeeWee felt his ears turning red, and he squirmed a little as he said, sheepishly, “I’m sorry…that’s what Dad used to call you.  He doesn’t anymore,” he hastened to add.

“Why did he call me that?”

The boy reluctantly told his aunt the reason for her nickname in their home, and after a moment, she began to laugh loudly.  WeeWee quickly followed suit.

Charles emerged from the house a few minutes later with a tray containing a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses.  Aunt Somebody noticed this and said, “Thank you, Charles…are you joining us?”

“No…but Barry is.  He just drove in.”

“Oh, cheese-and-crust.”  Aunt Somebody rolled her eyes.  “I called him back today and told him the answer was no.  Once and for all.  Now, what could he possibly want?”

Charles raised his eyebrows.  “I don’t imagine I should have to tell you that the word no is not in his vocabulary.  After all, you’ve known him longer than me.”

“That I have.”

Barry Gaines was short, stocky and energetic.  He looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, and had a brilliant smile (“the smile of a salesman”, Aunt Somebody later remarked drily) which was shining full-force as he approached his stepmother and her guest.  He was carrying a leather-bound book with gold writing on the front.

“Hello, love,” he said, planting a kiss on Aunt Somebody’s cheek.  To WeeWee he said, “Hi, there…I understand you’re keeping this dame company these days.  You’re braver than I am…she’s a real battle-ax, let me tell you.”

WeeWee smiled shyly, and Aunt Somebody said only, “If you want to visit, sit down and get real.  Otherwise, take your Hollywood agent act back to that poor girl who was dumb enough to fall for it and marry you.”

Barry sat down at the table and poured himself a glass of lemonade.  “It’s great to be able to spend this beautiful afternoon with you, too, Ma.”

“How are Trisha and the baby?”

Barry settled back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head.  “Kyle’s good— now.  Trisha—not so.  He had her up half the night…we think it was a stomach thing.”

“Then why aren’t you at home, making yourself useful to her?”

Barry grinned.  “Someone’s got to keep a roof over our heads.”  He pushed the book across the table at Aunt Somebody.  “The first official copy.”

She glanced at it and took a sip of lemonade.  Then she said, “Well, it’s very nicely bound, and I’m sure it’ll look great on the shelf with all the other books in the living room.”

“What is it?”  WeeWee leaned over to take a better look.  The gold writing on the cover read:

PASSING IN THE NIGHT

A Musical

Book, Music and Lyrics by Barry and Trisha Gaines

Based on the Screenplay for the Zenith Studios Film

TWO SHIPS PASSING

By Arthur Trent

He looked up at Barry and Aunt Somebody, his eyes huge with wonder.  “A musical?  That’s a script for a musical, based on the movie?”

Barry nodded, proudly.  “It sure is.”

As Barry’s visit went on, WeeWee quickly learned the reason behind it, as well as for the secretive conversation earlier among his aunt, Charles and Faye…who, as it happened, must have been mouthing to him not the word “cowboy” during it, but “comeback”.  Her own interest in this endeavor revolved around her skills as a makeup and hair stylist, which she had offered free of charge in the event that it came to pass.

It seemed that Barry was in the process of establishing a dinner theatre in the restaurant on the premises of Barrymore Park, something his father had often talked about doing, but had never gotten around to.  Barry now wanted to launch the theatre with a production of this musical, Passing in the Night, which he and his wife had written over the course of two years, from his stepmother’s most famous film.  He also wanted her to appear in it…not as Helen Davenport, the character she had originally played, but as her severe and dour mother, Regina.

Aunt Somebody was, to say the least, not interested.  Her reasons were many…she hadn’t acted onscreen in thirty years…she hadn’t sung or danced in longer…she had never acted onstage at all…the plot of Two Ships Passing was very dated, and she doubted it would hold up in the musical format, anyway; it was, after all, about a girl taking one last cruise before dying of a brain tumor. 

Barry countered with just as many reasons why she should do the show.  The theatre setting was small and intimate, so there would be no worries about vocal projection.  The character had only one song and did not dance at all.  The original film was a cult classic in its own right, and the stage adaptation had been updated to the present-day.  As for the subject matter being too heavy for a musical…just look at that new show about to open on Broadway, Les Miserables, based on the tragedy-filled tome by Victor Hugo.  Surely, if that was expected to succeed in the musical format, then this could.

As the two bantered back and forth, WeeWee sat listening, spellbound.  The notion that Aunt Somebody had an opportunity to act again, long after her film career had faded—even in such a modest venue as a resort park dinner theatre—was incredible.  The experience of seeing her perform live, in person, would forever trump that of seeing her on film…

“…I don’t know where we’ll find him, either, but find him we will,” Barry was saying.  “The part’s not huge, yet it’s crucial to the story, because Owen is the boy on the ship who brings the two leads together.”

“Yes, I know…I was in the movie, Barry.”

“The problem is, just as with women who are of the proper age and bearing to play Regina, it’s going to be hard to find a kid who’s got the right air of precociousness for Owen.”

There was a pause, and then Barry turned to WeeWee.  “How good are you at remembering lines?  Would you be interested in reading for a part in this?”

WeeWee stared at him, speechless with astonishment, although his brain frantically sought to formulate a response.  Its eventual lame product was, “I don’t think I’m going to be here long enough.”

It seemed an eternity—and an anguished one for WeeWee at that—before Aunt Somebody finally came to his rescue and said, with a sigh, “Leave the script here, Barry.  We’ll both look at it, and tell you what we think.”

**********

That evening, when WeeWee’s father called, he excitedly told him about Passing in the Night, and the possibility that he and Aunt Somebody would be acting in it together.  His father was maddeningly skeptical, however…almost as much as Aunt Somebody herself.

“Son, aren’t you forgetting that you’re only going to be there for a couple of weeks?  You talk as though you’ll be there the whole summer.  And when will this thing play?  You know you have to go back to school at the end of August.”

The word school was not even within the boy’s realm of consciousness at this point.  “Dad, she’s okay with me staying longer.  It was her idea.  And it was Barry’s idea for me to be in the show.”

“Well, that’s all fine and good, but Barry doesn’t care about your education…I do.  And besides, if this is a professional production, there are going to be contracts involved…and in my line of work, I know all about contracts, so I don’t want you committing to anything, especially if your aunt decides not to do it.  In fact, just forget this until I talk to her.  I want some details.”

WeeWee swallowed down the lump of anger and disappointment in his throat as best he could, and agreed.  His father went on to tell him that he had spoken with his mother on the phone.  She was coming home from North Carolina within the next few days, at which time they would get together for a talk.

The boy barely heard the rest of the conversation, for his mind remained firmly on the show.  While he loved his parents deeply, and wanted very much for them to reconcile, he was also canny enough to recognize the opportunity which had been offered to him that afternoon as a big one, without a doubt the biggest he had ever had in his short life, and so he did not mean to let it pass by without a fight.  Pretending to be great and powerful in his fantasies was one thing, but to command the attention of others by playing a role onstage…that notion was downright intoxicating.  And he knew that he could play Owen Stanton…he remembered the character well from the movie of Two Ships Passing.  He was exactly the right age, and Owen’s temperament–reserved, yet frank when the situation called for it–perfectly matched his own.  Besides, he had some of the funniest lines in the film.

Not long after WeeWee had finished talking to his father and gone to his room, the sound of shouting startled him into the hall, where he stood, wide-eyed, listening to Aunt Somebody quarreling on the phone in her study. 

“…Dianne, I’ve told you before…do not do this.  You’re a big girl—you told me the day you turned eighteen and moved to New York that you no longer needed anyone, least of all me…No, it is NOT different now!  You’re thirty-six years old, and since you left home, how many times have I seen you?  Three times?  Four?…All right, then…do not call me when you’re three sheets to the wind, and pour on the charm and try to make me forget that, just so I’ll open the checkbook.  I gave you all you’re going to get, long ago.  If you needed money, then that would be different, but living beyond your means to impress people was your doing.   So figure it OUT!”

There was the sound of the phone being slammed down, followed by the crash of a glass hitting a wall.

WeeWee remained at the top of the stairs for several moments, reflecting on how odd it was that the more things changed in his world, the more they stayed the same.

“…Except when I was first at Zenith, they were bleaching my hair every week, and I put a stop to that pretty quick, I can tell you.  If I hadn’t, I’d have been bald by the time I was twenty-five.”

This was the first reference that Aunt Somebody had made all evening to her past film career, in response to WeeWee’s father’s comment that he thought she looked better as a brunette than as a blonde.  Up until now, the conversation had mostly centered on The Merits of Living in Ohio Versus the Merits of Living in New York, and The Advantages of Polished Parquet Floors Versus the Advantages of Wall-to-Wall Carpeting, and Whether President Reagan Would Really Improve America’s Relationship with The Soviet Union.  In short, they had discussed everything except the subject that most interested WeeWee…Aunt Somebody’s years as a movie star.

As he sat in her kitchen, which was pleasant and roomy, but nothing special, and nibbled on one of the store-bought chocolate chip cookies that she had served for dessert after the salads— made with the garden-fresh tomatoes that she had gathered herself, and homemade macaroni and cheese, prepared by Charles—WeeWee couldn’t help but feel a bit dubious about the whole situation.  Had he excitedly accepted this opportunity to stay with the great lady he had admired for so long, only to be faced with a visit that would prove about as stimulating as a vacation in the home of Mrs. Franklin, the old lady who lived down the street from his family and talked nonstop, all year round, about the garage sales she held every August?

They were in the kitchen, after all…and the dishes were plastic.  WeeWee had envisioned them sitting around a long table in a formal dining room, eating regally from fine china and drinking from crystal goblets by the light of tall candelabras.  He had even changed into a button-down shirt in anticipation of it. 

“…I’m more of a dark-haired personality, anyway,” Aunt Somebody was saying now, with a chuckle.  “Maybe that’s why I like the fall and winter months more than summer.   One thing I really missed when I lived in California was the season changes.”

WeeWee’s father concurred with an “Mmmm,” and took another sip of coffee.  WeeWee seized this opportunity to redirect the table talk, but his strategy was subtle.

“What was your house in California like?” he asked Aunt Somebody.

“The one in Brentwood, you mean, dear?  It was nice,” she said reflectively, holding her coffee cup just below her chin, her elbows resting on the polished mahogany table.  “We had a good-sized yard, and a big swimming pool, right in the center of the garden.  The house had twenty-one rooms.  Looking back now, I can’t believe I ever lived in a house that big.  This house has twelve, and it’s too much at times.  In recent years, I’ve considered selling and moving to an apartment, or a condo.  I mean, the heating bills and taxes are just getting plumb out of hand.”

This was not exactly the information that WeeWee had been fishing for.  He had been hoping to steer Aunt Somebody into reminiscing about her life in California during her heyday, and the entertaining she had probably done at her big fancy mansion, and then he would have effortlessly nudged her into recounting who her guests had been…undoubtedly many famous and glittering personages about whom she would tell fascinating stories.  But now all he got was a ten-minute discourse between her and his father on heating costs and property taxes, and the Upside and Downside of Buying a Condo Versus Buying a House.

WeeWee sighed inwardly and sat back in his chair.  At least he could listen to Aunt Somebody’s voice, which he enjoyed.  It was every bit as smoky and mellow as it had sounded over the answering machine, and she had a marvelously rich laugh. 

As is often the case with children, WeeWee studied the adults in his world avidly, down to their tiniest tic.  Whenever he met a new one…a teacher, a neighbor…he was fascinated by their physical attributes, their facial expressions and mannerisms.  He loved people-watching in shopping centers and the like, although, backward as he was, he didn’t care for interaction with even those he found the most interesting from afar.

Aunt Somebody provided him with an absolute banquet of behavior to observe.  From the first moment they had met, WeeWee’s gaze had been riveted to her every move.  He was enthralled by the experience of at last seeing the real lady behind the character she had played in Two Ships Passing, and noted that physically, she hadn’t changed all that much since those days.  Except for the usual crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes, and the lines which ran from her nose to her mouth, she looked quite young for her sixty-two years.  Her eyes were just as wide as they had been in the movie, and they were even prettier now that their vivid blue showed.  After WeeWee had gotten over his first shock of discovering that she wasn’t really blonde, he had to agree with his father that her darker, natural hair color suited her features and skin tone better.  She wore no makeup except for lipstick, and no jewelry but a couple of bracelets.  Her body was trim, her posture very straight, and while seated, as she was now, she tended to fold her elegant hands, with their polished red nails, just under her chin or on the table top.  There was nothing actressy about her, the boy noted.  She did not gesticulate a lot, and she spoke in a low, well-modulated tone.   Her face was expressive, and she often raised her eyebrows in a cynical way as she spoke, and drew her lips together when she was thoughtful.  She had a terrific smile, and her sense of humor was dry, but not to such an extreme that WeeWee couldn’t understand her jokes.  In fact, he preferred it to her being boisterous and rowdy, as he had a rather subdued sense of humor himself.

Fascinating she was, but Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard or Margo Channing in All About Eve she certainly was not.  And while WeeWee still had to admit that he had been let down by this at first, he was rapidly growing to like the Aunt Somebody who really was, even if, judging by her conversation this evening, she had never been anything more than a classy lady of wealth.

WeeWee was jarred out of his reverie by Aunt Somebody turning to him and asking, “So what do you think of school?”

Before he knew he was going to say it, the retort came.  “What’s there to think about?”

Aunt Somebody clapped her hands together and threw her head back, roaring her wonderful laugh louder than ever.  WeeWee smiled a little at his own wit, and even his father smirked.

When she had recovered, Aunt Somebody said, “He’s a young man after my own heart.  I never liked school much, either.  My mother insisted I graduate, so I did, but I can’t say that it really agreed with me.”

“His grades are excellent,” said WeeWee’s father.  “I think it’s the social aspect that he doesn’t care for so much.”

Aunt Somebody made a sound of understanding.  Then she laid her hand on one of WeeWee’s and looked straight at him as she spoke. 

“It’s tough when you’re a little different from everybody else, isn’t it?”

**********

Before they all went to bed (Aunt Somebody had invited WeeWee’s father to stay in one of the guest rooms, saying it was utter nonsense for him to go to a hotel), WeeWee and his father were given a brief tour of the house by their hostess.  The boy marveled continually over how tastefully it was furnished and decorated, and his glee at the prospect of staying there was second only to the pleasure he felt at being able to share his aunt’s company during that time.  Her comment at the end of dinner, which had seemed to come out of the blue, now went a long way toward giving him a strong sense that she understood him, and this was a great comfort. 

When two people are meant to become friends, no time is wasted before they do.

The downstairs of Aunt Somebody’s house consisted of the foyer, the big living room, an imposing dining room (where WeeWee wished they had eaten), the spacious kitchen, a small office where Aunt Somebody did her work for the various charities she was involved in; a plant-filled den or TV room, which was far less formal than the living room, and where she did most of her lounging, and two baths, one of which she had dubbed “The Emerald City” because it had been painted bright green.  Upstairs were four bedrooms and Aunt Somebody’s master suite, done in apricot, which boasted a sitting room and a private bath.  Charles had his own small apartment above the garage.

WeeWee’s room, where Charles had already brought his luggage, was decorated in various shades of blue and white.  The floor was polished wood, and there were several well-stocked bookshelves.  A large desk in front of the double windows, which looked out over the garden, and a sitting area, with an overstuffed blue chair and a television set, completed the effect of what the boy pronounced “the perfect room”.

“I’m glad you like it!” said Aunt Somebody, very pleased.  “This was Barry’s room until he moved out of the house.”  Barry was her stepson by her third marriage.  She had talked about him a bit at dinner, telling WeeWee and his father how he had taken over managing the nearby resort and campground, named Barrymore, that Kevin, her deceased husband, had owned. 

“You’ll have to be sure to take good care of it,” said WeeWee’s father, looking at him meaningfully.

“He will,” said Aunt Somebody, patting him on the back.  “I know he will.”  WeeWee grinned and nodded.

After taking her guests on a walk around the beautifully kept garden, Aunt Somebody led them back into the living room through the French doors.  Something WeeWee hadn’t thought to do earlier was to look about for photos of his aunt from her days of stardom, but there didn’t seem to be any in here or elsewhere in the house.  He was almost beginning to wonder if her whole history as an actress was nothing more than a tall tale that his father had drawn him out on for his own amusement, for she had certainly offered no evidence of any kind, so far, that it was real. 

WeeWee’s father paused beside the baby grand piano in the corner to peer at a silver-framed photograph on top, of a young girl with dark hair and an intense expression.  “Is this Dianne?” he asked Aunt Somebody.

She turned to look, and nodded as she said, with a hint of irony in her tone, “Yes, that’s my little girl.  She was sixteen when that was taken.” 

“She looks like her father…I suppose that’s as it should be.”

After WeeWee had gone to bed and was drowsily luxuriating in the knowledge that he was sleeping under the roof of a genuine movie star, he faintly heard Aunt Somebody and his father talking as they passed down the hallway to their respective rooms.

“…He never took his eyes off you, the whole night.”  WeeWee’s father was chuckling.  “I don’t think you know what it means to him to have finally met you.”

“It’s been quite a while since a man couldn’t take his eyes off me,” quipped Aunt Somebody.  “He’s a charming boy.  I feel so sorry for him, after what that minister did, that he was staying with.  That was unforgivable.”

“Well, Bitterwater’s going to hear from me again,” said WeeWee’s father darkly.

“As well he should,” retorted Aunt Somebody.  “If he had done that to my son, I’d have sued the bastard.  And I don’t even need the money.”

**********

The next morning, WeeWee and his father went downstairs to find a breakfast of French toast laid out in the kitchen for them by Charles.  Aunt Somebody joined them a few minutes later, striking in a white suit with an aquamarine sash and a matching scarf which held back her hair.  She told her guests to go ahead and eat without her, as she was on her way to meet with a local group of ladies at a restaurant to discuss the funding of a shelter for abused women and single mothers.  Just as there had been no mention of her acting career last night, not a word was said about it this morning, either. 

After breakfast, WeeWee’s father prepared for the drive back to Ohio, although Aunt Somebody urged him to stay longer.  He demurred, citing the situation at home, and she seemed to understand.  WeeWee carried his suitcase to the car, and Aunt Somebody accompanied them. 

Hugs and kisses were exchanged between WeeWee’s father and his aunt and son, and then he departed, urging WeeWee once again to behave himself, and promising to call him as soon as he got home.  The boy found himself feeling a little sad at seeing his father go.  He had not stopped to think about it until now, but the truth was that they had grown closer over the past week than they had ever been before.

Perhaps Aunt Somebody sensed how he was feeling, for as they walked back to the house, she told WeeWee that he was welcome to call either of his parents at any time while he was there, and that he could talk to them for as long as he wanted.

As she studied herself in the mirror near the side door before leaving for her meeting, Aunt Somebody apologized to WeeWee for leaving him alone on his first morning with her, and promised that she would make up for it later.  She then off-handedly suggested that he go to the kitchen and ask Charles for a glass of milk.  He wasn’t particularly thirsty, having just drunk two glasses of orange juice at breakfast, but he agreed.  She told him that she would be back for lunch, waved goodbye to him, winked, and was gone.

WeeWee hung around the window which looked out over the driveway, just to see what kind of car his aunt drove (it turned out to be a handsome gray Buick, which he found acceptable, although he would have preferred seeing her leave in a chauffeured limousine), and then he wandered back to the kitchen.  The quiet of the house was rather unsettling after the nonstop conversation since his arrival yesterday, and he jumped when the grandfather clock in the foyer struck ten.

The kitchen was deserted when WeeWee entered it, but a glass of milk was waiting for him on the table, along with a gigantic book.  No…not a book.  He realized as he sat down and looked at it more closely that it was a photo album, chock full of pictures and clippings.  They were old and yellowed.  Some of them were even curling up on the edges from age.  But he could tell even now that all of them were in some way connected with Aunt Somebody’s film career and publicity.

A grin spread slowly over WeeWee’s face as he opened the album.  Tucked inside the front cover was a note, written in a neat, sloping hand:

I thought this would keep you occupied in my absence!

                                                                                     A.S.

 **********

WeeWee spent the next two hours poring over the pages of the photo album.  The glass of milk beside him on the table remained untouched, so engrossed was he in these images that highlighted his great-aunt’s achievements in Hollywood.

He was at last able to see what she had looked like when she was just starting out as a dancer in the Chicago nightclub, The Silver Slipper (dark-haired and slightly chubby, to his surprise).  There were several old programs listing the entertainment offered on various evenings in the club, and his aunt’s name was included in the members of the chorus.  Apparently, she had danced to such songs as “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B” and “Anything Goes”.  She had evidently also sung on occasion, for she was credited in one of the programs for a rendition of “Someone to Watch Over Me”, and in another for “Have I Stayed Too Long at the Fair?”

And then the years at Zenith began.  There were the photos known as “cheesecake”, which most of the young female newcomers were required to do for publicity purposes, displaying their shapely figures in bathing suits and tennis outfits…a layout of Aunt Somebody, now svelte and graceful, swimming in an opulent pool, smiling dazzlingly for the camera…candid shots of her at restaurant tables, gorgeously coiffed, swathed in furs and sparkling with jewels… here, sipping a glass of champagne…there, leaning toward the flame of a proffered lighter, a cigarette between her lips.  WeeWee noted that so far, he had not seen her smoking in person, and wondered if she still did.

The shots were endless, intermingled with clippings from the society columns of various newspapers, and eventually, from their film review pages as well.  Aunt Somebody had neatly chronicled each item with the date it had originally been printed, and the publication.

A 1944 photo of her, not long after her arrival in California…she was clad in a waitress outfit, serving sandwiches and coffee to a table of G.I.s at the famed Hollywood Canteen, where servicemen could go during World War II to mingle with the stars…

August, 1945, from the Hollywood Reporter:

“…the charismatic young starlet from Zenith Productions was seen last night at the Coconut Grove with…”

September, 1945, from Vanity Fair:

“…seen here taking in the premiere of the Joan Crawford hit Mildred Pierce…”

By this time, Aunt Somebody’s hair, which had been growing progressively lighter in the photographs, was completely blonde.

March, 1946, from Photoplay:

“…The Underbelly boasts a fine array of stellar performances…as Ellen Matthews, the distraught housewife…she clearly proves herself a talent to watch…”

November, 1946, from the Los Angeles Times:

“…at a party held by Mr. and Mrs. Basil Rathbone…at left is…breathtaking in blue…”

A few pages later…April, 1947, from Variety:

“The Girl with the Golden Curls (her official new publicity title bestowed by Zenith) will next appear in Heart and Hand, with Andrew Bayliss…”

As Aunt Somebody’s success had grown, so had the size of her publicity photos, and of the advertisements devoted to her films.  There were also many color studio portraits mixed in with the gray newsprint pictures.  WeeWee marveled at how cool and confident she looked, how serenely beautiful, leaning languidly against a Grecian column and staring off into the distance…or smiling directly into the camera, an orchid in her (dyed) blonde hair.

Here was a 1947 endorsement she had done for Essence shampoo (“The Girl with the Golden Curls calls us the ESSENCE of her success!”)…

And then there were the interviews…

May, 1947, from Silver Screen:

“…Your latest role is something of a departure for you [Aunt Somebody had played a prostitute/gun moll that year in a gangster film titled Thin Ice.]  Is this an attempt to create a new image for yourself?”

“No, I’m just a working girl who does as she’s told.  Zenith gives me the part, and I play it.  Of course, I know that my fans expect to see me as a certain type of character…but I wouldn’t want to be locked into that forever…”

July, 1947, from Photoplay:

“…You’ve been seen quite a bit lately with John Hammond, who co-starred with you in No Roses for Natalie.  May we assume that the romance you shared in the picture has transferred itself to real life?”

“Not at all.  John and I are just very good friends…”

It was obvious that Aunt Somebody had enjoyed the attention of many attractive men during her early days in Hollywood; she was rarely seen in even these pictures with the same beau twice.  But judging from the album, she hadn’t become involved with anyone seriously until 1948, the fateful year when she had met Dominic Addessi.

WeeWee studied the photographs of this man who had caused his aunt so much turmoil and heartache, and found it hard to believe that he had been capable of it.  Addessi had been dashingly handsome, it was true, but aside from that, he looked so kind and gracious…even humorous at one point, when he and Aunt Somebody must have been clowning around for the photographer, and she was holding his face in her hands, closing in for a kiss as he gazed out of the picture with comically wide eyes.

Articles on their romance had come thick and fast, followed by huge write-ups on their engagement and marriage.

October, 1948, the Los Angeles Times:

“’…I’m the happiest woman in the world,’ said the bride, who looked ravishing in a sleeveless white satin gown with a veil of lace which, according to her, was flown in from Marseilles, France only the day before.  ‘Dominic is as charming and romantic a husband as could be desired, and fully supportive of me in my career…if God is so good as to bless us with children, then I will feel that I have the perfect life…’”

An interview with the newly married couple in the Hollywood Observer, three months later…

“ ‘… She’s a terrific wife’, said Mr. Addessi, patting her hand.  ‘She even knows how to cook.  It’s great to finally have a regular routine…she’s really whipped me into shape…’”

A December, 1948 piece in the Ladies Home Journal on the Brentwood mansion where they had lived…

“The Girl with the Golden Curls has decided at last to put down permanent roots in Beverly Hills, in light of her recent career success and marriage to entrepreneur Dominic Addessi.   The couple have purchased a handsome home on Brentwood Avenue, modeled after an Italian villa (seen above)…”

The photo accompanying this article showed a huge white mansion on a wide expanse of lawn, with a topiary and fountain in front.  WeeWee shook his head in disbelief…to think that Aunt Somebody had actually lived there, in that fabulous house with its twenty-one rooms, as she had said. 

A 1949 blurb from Hollywood’s gossip queen, Hedda Hopper…

“…if she doesn’t win an Oscar for her performance in her new picture, Two Ships Passing, then my instincts have begun to fail me.  When I saw it last night, I was enraptured…I wept, I laughed, I was utterly moved…”

A whole page had been cut from Photoplay and pasted into the book next.  It was a June, 1949 advertisement for the movie Two Ships Passing, depicting Aunt Somebody gazing out over the deck of a cruise ship while a suave, urbane man at her side, the actor Albert Becker, looked at her adoringly.  The legend of the ad, beneath the title and credits, read—

She had it all…glamour, wealth, and romance.

What she didn’t have…was time!

WeeWee noticed that from this point until the end of the album, the items in it grew much fewer and farther between.  He surmised that this was because the majority of Aunt Somebody’s publicity—especially regarding her family life—must have been unfavorable from 1950 onward.  Except for the ads and reviews of her films over the next several years, there was only a brief press release announcing the birth of her daughter in May, 1951.  (“…Mr. and Mrs. Addessi have christened the baby Dianne Marie…”)

There was no trace of the estrangement between Aunt Somebody and her husband, nor any mention of Addessi’s sudden death and all its accompanying scandal and controversy.  WeeWee understood why she had chosen to exclude these things, and for now, he was content to be able to peruse a record of the brighter moments of her life.  As he grew older, however, and gained access to the internet and various other methods of research, he would make a complete, comprehensive study of all the details which had made up her incredible past, for the biography that he would eventually write on her.

The album ended with a February, 1957 advertisement from Variety for Aunt Somebody’s last film, which had been titled, ironically enough, Farewell, My Darling.

This is a list of 5 of my favourite musicals of the 1990s. If you don’t know them – head straight to Amazon and pick up a cast recording! These are definitely shows that should be on your radar.

1. Marie Christine

Simply put, Michael John LaChiusa is the best of the new generation of serious musical theatre composers and Marie Christine represents one of his lushest and most seductive scores. Loosely based on the Greek play, Medea, the show transposes the action to 1890s New Orleans where Marie finds herself spurned by her love, Dante, and exacts a tragic revenge. Add a touch of voodoo and a dash of history by way of the real-life figure Marie Laveau and you have the makings of a compelling tale of mythic proportions. LaChiusa’s score is filled with ravishing melodies and haunting motifs and the original cast recording preserves a tour de force performance from Audra McDonald in the titular role.

2. Passion

Passion is a haunting show, a musical of immense emotional depth and intellect. It’s not perhaps the most easily accessible of musical theatre scores: the score is not compartmentalized into extractable, toe-tapping songs, but uses a series of motifs to develop narrative and character in an immensely sophisticated manner. Emotionally we’re looking at some of the things that drive us all: the nature and meaning of love, and the thin line between passion and obsession. It’s disquieting how easily one can see something of oneself in Fosca, as broken in her soul as she is in her body, or in Giorgio, a man whose life is completely transformed by his experiences with this woman. Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine challenge conventional ideas about the relationship between love, passion and obsession from three perspectives: what people expect them to be, what they truly are and what they have the potential to become. It’s dark and brooding and brilliant.

3. Assassins

In contrast, Sondheim’s Assassins has a score that is almost immediately accessible, owing to its brilliant use of pastiche and the inclusion of a range of characters that lurk within the boundaries of our public consciousness. Even if one hasn’t heard of the assassins whose perspectives placed at the centre of this muiscal, one has surely heard of the American presidents who were their targets. From the variations on “Hail to the Chief” to the series of ballads that tell the stories of those who would see the chief fall, every number in the show is memorable. The original Off-Broadway cast recording also preserves the chilling climactic scene in full and, if you’re lucky enough to see the show live, there are other treats that await in the book: the monologues of Samuel Byck, would-be Richard Nixon assassin, and the hysterically funny scenes between Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme and Sara Jane Moore, who both attempt to assassinate Gerald Ford. It’s a satirical gem that works best without the latter day addition of “Something Just Broke”, a song that forces us back into our traditional perceptions of the assassins and their deeds and which dilutes the experience we should undergo as we experience this show.

4. Sunset Boulevard

Some people ask why Andrew Lloyd Webber turned what is considered by many to be an untouchable film into a musical. Well, I prefer my divas singing, so it suits me just fine. Sunset Boulevard is not particularly subtle, but its broadness suits its mileau and characters. There are some haunting pieces of music here: the instrumental use of “The Greatest Star of All”, for instance, or the ghostly introduction to the titular tune, or the two instantly memorable songs given to Norma Desmond, “With One Look” and “As If We Never Said Goodbye”, and even smaller numbers like “The Perfect Year” are melodic little gems that stay with you long after the last time you listened to the score.

5. Titanic

In 1997, two different versions of the Titanic story were told in two different styles in two different mediums. The film offered Leonardio DiCaprio and Kate Winslet frolicking in a fictional love story set against the backdrop of the ill-fated ship of dreams, while the musical used the stories of the real life Titanic passengers as a basis for telling its Robert Altman-like version of the tale. These days, I find myself returning to my cast album of the stage score rather than the film. It’s a moving piece of musical theatre, from the opening sequence to the haunting contra-punctual duet “The Proposal/The Night Was Alive”, from the exquisitely structured sequence at the end of the first act (where the ship hits the iceberg) to the chilling lifeboat sequence that climaxes with the stirring anthem, “We’ll Meet Tomorrow”. And any of these is many times better than “My Heart Will Go On”….

Needless to say, I was thrilled. Ever since I saw Beverly Hills 90210, which I watched religiously, it was my goal to take a Los Angeles vacation again  someday. Plus, I was convinced that while on my Los Angeles vacation, I’d see some celebrities and perhaps get some autographs. Finally, I had a boyfriend who loved to travel and we decided to plan a Los Angeles vacation for 10 days.

There were so many things that I wanted to see. I wanted to see everything around there. I have always been fascinated with the California lifestyle – particularly Los Angeles.While we didn’t have a ton of money, we decided to do the absolute best that we could to accomplish everything that was on our ‘to do’ list. I didn’t want to stay in a cheesy hotel but I realized that Los Angeles was not as cheap as someplace else would be. So, I settled for a mediocre hotel and made the reservations. I did my best to pack things that would make me fit in while out on the West Coast, but I was pretty sure that somehow I would still look like a tourist.

Finally, the day came to board the plane for our Los Angeles vacation. I was more excited than I can describe and barely managed to remain in my seat for the flight. I think that my boyfriend was sick of me within the first hour. I figured that I’d better calm down or he and I would have a fairly miserable Los Angeles vacation instead of pleasant. I did manage to relax somewhat and let myself stare out the window and daydream. I could imagine bumping into Julia Roberts while out shopping and casually striking up a conversation with her. I didn’t dare tell my boyfriend about my fantasy or he would have had me committed, that’s for sure!

Finally, we landed at the airport and our Los Angeles vacation had officially begun! We took a cab to our hotel and drove through downtown. I think that I took a photo every time the car stopped. I can only imagine what the driver thought of me. But, I was very determined to make my Los Angeles vacation as memorable as possible. My first destination for our Los Angeles vacation was Hollywood. I wanted to see all of the stars and get lots more photos. I have to say that Hollywood was definitely not what I expected though. I also knew that my Los Angeles vacation would not be complete without strolling down Rodeo Drive or the Sunset Boulevard. I scanned every car around us hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity. I never did.

Okay, so I didn’t meet any celebrities. Heck, I didn’t even catch a glimpse of any of them. But, I have a lot of happy memories that I will always carry with me. My Los Angeles vacation was as wonderful as I had wanted it to be. I look forward to going back someday.

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